Two Wishes
by MadScientistGirl
Summary: House and Wilson are each given their heart’s desire, but House’s wish surprises everyone, including himself. House/Wilson. Chapter 30: The End
1. Wants and Needs

Two Wishes

Summary: House and Wilson are each given their heart's desire, but House's wish surprises everyone, including himself. [House/Wilson]

Author's note: This story contains mpreg (male pregnancy). Wait! Stop! Don't automatically hit the back button. Give it a chance, will you? It's a pretty good story (of course I am a bit biased). I never thought I'd write a story with mpreg, but once I had the idea, I had to write it. My goal in this story, was to write an mpreg story that felt medically accurate, provided you could accept the initial premise (which obviously, is never going to happen in real life). I leave it to you to judge whether I have achieved my goal. The other warning is that this story contains a loving gay relationship. If that isn't your thing, then this isn't the story for you.

Acknowledgement: Thank you to ML, whose proofreading and constructive criticism have made this story what it is today. I couldn't have done it without you.

Timeline: This story begins near the end of season 2. This is mainly because this is when I began writing this story. Three years and over 50,000 words later, the story is finally ready to be posted.

Disclaimer: Don't own anything. Don't sue.

Chapter 1: Wants and Needs

Gregory House sat on his balcony, watching as the last traces of light finally left the sky. God, what a shitty day it had been. It was his own damn fault; it had been almost lunchtime and he'd gone looking for Wilson. Wilson's office had been empty, but lying on the desk had been an intriguing piece of paper—creamy stationary threaded with a light blue ribbon. Automatically, he had leaned over to read it – Mark and Stacy Warner are proud to announce the birth of their son, Kyle Edmund Warner – he had pushed himself away from the desk before he read the details. It was just over a year since Stacy had left PPTH. Guess it hadn't taken long for her to patch up her marriage, he thought cynically.

The day had only gotten worse from there. His leg had felt like someone was driving a knife into his thigh, and the Vicodin didn't seem to help. He'd yelled at three nurses who had been slow to follow his orders, and had been snapping at anyone else unlucky enough to cross his path.

The final straw had been his last clinic patient. "How can anyone be stupid enough to think that a stomach flu can last for over two months!"

His voice must have carried to the nurses' station, because someone stuck their head into the room, and he heard a female voice ask, "is everything all right in here?"

"Fine," he snarled, but it wasn't the truth. His hands were shaking so badly that he could barely hold the ultrasound wand steady on the teenager's abdomen. "See that. It's a heartbeat. You're pregnant."

She had looked shocked for only a minute, before she gathered her wits and stated, "then I need to have an abortion. Can they do that here?"

Without speaking, he wrote a referral to the OB/GYN department and handed it over. Then he left the clinic, 20 minutes before his shift was scheduled to be over. No one stopped him.

As he watched the sun set, he had marveled at how easily the decision had been made. He imagined that she probably spent more time each morning deciding what to wear than she had given to the decision to get rid of her child. He wondered if she would ever think back to that image on the ultrasound, and wonder what might have been if she had made a different decision. Maybe the image wouldn't haunt as much if the choice was hers, rather than fate taking the choice away.

Even eight years later, every time he picked up an ultrasound probe, he was forced to remember. How foolishly happy he had felt, seeing the tiny life inside Stacy's body. How they had walked around for three months, enjoying having this secret that only they shared. The trip to Honolulu for the infectious disease conference, where the afternoons were spent lounging on the beach, sipping non-alcoholic drinks with umbrellas and Stacy wearing a bikini, despite the fact that her waistline was completely non-existent. And then the blood, and the frantic trip to an unfamiliar hospital, where another scan showed that there was no longer a heartbeat. Things like that weren't supposed to happen in paradise. The pathologist's report was still sitting at the bottom of his file drawer, but he didn't need to read it to remember what it contained: no genetic abnormalities, no defects, no reason that his son should not have been carried to term.

He sat for a long time, and he was about to push himself off of the uncomfortable wooden bench when a flash of movement caught his eye. He turned his head. "You know, dead patients aren't allowed on my balcony."

For some reason, this seemed to amuse the girl in the white dress, who came and sat beside him, pulling her legs up so she was sitting cross legged on the bench. "Am I to be confined to the morgue just because I'm dead? Boring!"

House had to smile; even in death, she was as feisty as ever. In life, she had baffled the oncology nursing staff, who had no idea how to deal with a twelve year old girl who refused to accept their sympathy or their support. In her, he had found a kindred spirit. "So why aren't you haunting Wilson? He was your doctor, not me."

"Because you were one of the few people in this world who actually gave a damn about me."

He was about to deny it, but at her raised eyebrows, he realized that apparently, bullshitting the dead was impossible. It was a sad statement, that so few people _had _cared about her. Wilson had told him the story of how three months ago she had been removed from a foster family that was abusing her. Which was why the leukemia that had killed her had gone undetected until it was too late for the treatment to work. Not that Wilson had ever given up.

Because there was no reply to her statement, House did what usually worked in awkward situations; he said nothing at all, and waited for this strange situation to resolve itself. The girl seemed to be considering something. "I want to do something for you. Give you what you need."

House looked at her skeptically. "Is this where I get three wishes? I thought that was genies, not," he paused, "whatever the hell you are."

"Oh come on, it's no use asking people what they need; they will only tell you what they want. People rarely actually know what they need."

"Ah. Another fan of the philosopher Jagger." At her puzzled look, he shrugged. "Never mind. So, do you know what I need?"

She was looking at him intently, as if trying to figure out a particularly challenging puzzle. At last she smiled. "I think I do." She uncrossed her legs and then stood up. She moved so she was standing directly in front of him. She reached out her hand, and without thinking, he reached out to shake her hand. "Goodbye, Dr. House. Thank you." As her last words faded, his hand closed on empty air and she was gone.

James Wilson was sitting in his office. It was late, and he didn't want to go home to his cold, dark, empty apartment. So he was sitting in his cold, dark, empty office watching Greg out on the balcony, apparently having a conversation with himself. Wilson must have fallen asleep, because that would be the only explanation for the fact that one of his former patients, who had died a week ago, had just appeared in his office. "Hello Kayla."

"Hey Dr. Wilson." She smiled. "I wanted to ask you something. After I died, you whispered some words that I didn't understand. What was that?"

"Kaddish, the Jewish prayer of mourning. I hope you don't mind. I know you're not Jewish."

"No, it was nice. No one ever did anything like that for me before."

He was sad, because her statement was probably true. "Is there anything else that I can do for you? I know I failed you. I couldn't heal you." His voice broke.

"No, Dr. Wilson. You didn't fail. There was nothing more you could have done. It was my time to die. You were always so nice, coming to see me, telling really lame jokes to make me laugh. You even introduced me to your friend. Which is why I was allowed to come to see you. So that I could do something for you."

"Like what?"

"I am allowed to give you what you need, but it turns out I don't have to do a thing," she said happily.

"I don't understand. What is it that I need?" Wilson was confused.

She looked pointedly out the glass door that looked out onto the balcony, where House was still sitting on the bench. She turned to look into Wilson's eyes. "He already loves you as much as you love him. All you need to do is find a way to tell him. I'm sure you'll think of something." She grinned at the flabbergasted look on his face. "Goodbye, Dr. Wilson!"

"Goodbye" he replied, but she was already gone. What an odd dream he was having, and he willed himself not to wake up. With the courage that comes with knowing that it is all a fantasy, he pushed open the door and stepped over the low wall that separated the balconies. Without saying a word, he leaned down and kissed House. After an initial hesitation of surprise, the other man responded and began kissing him back.

When James awoke a few hours later, he smiled at the wonderful dream he had just experienced. As his various senses began to check in, he couldn't help but notice that something had happened that hadn't occurred since he was a teenager. Not too surprising given the graphic nature of his dream. He was about to smile, when he noticed a few other important details – he was naked and lying on the floor of his office, and most importantly, there was an arm resting on his hip. What the hell? If the sex was real, did that mean that the conversation with Kayla was real? He remembered her words – "he already loves you as much as you love him."

With a sigh, he turned over, and saw House's blue eyes watching him intently. He was still trying to formulate something to say when House leaned in to kiss him. After a very thorough and enjoyable kiss, it was House that finally broke the silence. "Of all the times I pictured us having sex, I never pegged you for a carpet man."

Charmingly, Wilson blushed. "It was, well, uhm, convenient."

House laughed at the embarrassment of his friend, and now lover. "Do you think that next time we could be boring and use a bed?"

"Sure. And hopefully someplace that has a shower," Wilson suggested, pulling on his clothes.

"How about my place? We still have," House checked his watch, "seven whole hours until it is time to come back here for work."

Not wanting to waste any time, Greg allowed James to help him off the floor. He donned his clothing, and then they both drove to Greg's place, only breaking a few traffic laws to get there in the shortest possible amount of time. The seven hours were well spent.

"_You can't always get what you want. But if you try sometimes, well you might find, you get what you need." -- _The Rolling Stones


	2. Symptoms

Author's Note: Thank you to everyone who reviewed chapter one. Because of your support, I made it a priority to post another chapter today. OK, to be be honest, I really didn't want to do what should have been my top priority. Hope you enjoy this chapter, and let me know what you think!

Chapter 2: Symptoms

Within a few days, James quickly became sick of having to head home to get dressed before work, or to remember to bring a change of clothes. That weekend, Greg and James cleaned out one of the closets in House's apartment, and James's neatly pressed suits and ties moved in. There were definite advantages to having your best friend become your lover. None of the awkward, uncomfortable, getting to know each other bits that accompany the dating stage of a relationship. Some things hadn't changed all that much; they often spent the evenings on Greg's couch. The only difference was that the images on the TV often went unnoticed, as they often ended up making out instead of watching TV. On the evenings when they were both exhausted, they merely curled up together on the couch.

After Wilson had been living with House for a couple of weeks, House took a week of sick leave for the first time since the infarction. He probably wouldn't have done it, except that Wilson found him retching in the bathroom, and had diagnosed the stomach flu and put him back to bed. It was an unusual sort of flu, in that there was no fever, and no diarrhea, only a feeling of being tired and the nausea that seemed to come and go at will. It seemed to be worse when his stomach was empty, or when he smelled certain things, such as coffee or any form of seafood.

After a week spent on the couch with his iPod and GameBoy, he was thoroughly bored. The one amusement was listening to the message Cuddy left on his answering machine, "House? Are you there? Wilson says that you don't have a fever, so unless you can prove that you are dying, you had better get your ass into work on Monday or I will triple your number of clinic hours." So on Monday, he took a shower and got dressed for work, even though he wasn't really feeling any better.

In the next few weeks, he managed to convince everyone that he was fine, and everyone else mostly forgot his bout with the flu. He even managed to convince himself that he was improving, but it was more that he had figured out tricks that mostly kept the nausea at bay. When Wilson was in the shower, he would reach into the nightstand and pull out a handful of crackers. The small amount of food in his stomach was usually enough to keep him from vomiting first thing in the morning. When that tactic failed, he found that the noise of the shower was enough to mask the sounds of his retching. In the mornings, he hid in his office, so that he didn't have to go into the conference room where the morning coffee was brewing. At lunchtime, he found some out of the way place to eat a piece of fruit and handful of crackers, so that he could avoid the hospital cafeteria. Occasionally he was forced to walk away in the middle of a conversation and head to the nearest restroom, but it was just one additional strange behavior for a man that was known for his odd quirks. He was losing weight, but because his colleagues saw him everyday, they really didn't take notice of the changes in him. He now had two constant companions, the bottle of Vicodin in his right jacket pocket and a package of crackers in his left.

At the end of September, Lisa Cuddy took two weeks off for a trip to California, and when she returned, she was shocked at the changes in her colleague. She immediately picked up the phone and asked Wilson to stop by her office. As soon as he entered, she didn't waste time on the preliminaries. "What's going on with House?"

He was confused; what had House done now to piss off his boss? "What do you mean?" he hedged.

"Have you taken a good look at him lately? If he loses any more weight he is going to look like a walking skeleton."

Wilson slumped in the chair. Was there something that he had missed? Maybe he just hadn't wanted to see it. "I don't know."

"I need to know if there is something that is going to affect his job? How much Vicodin is he taking? Is it drugs? If he is taking something else, like morphine or crystal meth, I need to know."

"Nothing like that. The leg has been fine."

"Everything isn't fine. Even in just two weeks, I can tell he has lost even more weight. There's something wrong. I am not just asking as his boss. I'm worried."

"Me too." Wilson thought for a minute. "I'm due to be in the clinic in ten minutes. Do you think you could find someone to cover my shift for maybe an hour? I'd like to check things out at House's place."

Lisa grabbed her lab coat. "I can do it. Just let me know if you find anything."

Wilson drove back to the apartment, wondering what he would find. What he had been missing for the past few months? The first place he looked was the metal box at the top of the bookshelf. The morphine vial was untouched. Nothing had been taken. He searched through the end table next to the couch. The only thing even slightly out of the ordinary was a plastic wrapper.

He checked the kitchen. He hadn't cooked for several weeks, and so therefore he was surprised to see fresh fruit in the bowl. Apparently House had actually gone grocery shopping. Somewhat unusual, but not unheard of. He looked in the pantry. Two boxes of crackers partially hidden behind the cans of soup. One box was normal; two seemed a little excessive, but maybe there had been a two-for-one special.

Nothing unusual in the bathroom. The last place to check was the bedroom. He checked all the places where he thought that House could have hidden narcotics. Nothing. Finally he checked the nightstand on House's side of the bed. A partially eaten package of crackers. Maybe they were left over from when House had the flu? He fished out a cracker and took a bite. Not stale, which ruled out the leftover theory.

He was deep in thought as he drove back to the hospital. That night, he kept an eye on House, trying to catalog any other possible symptoms. When he was tossing the cartons of Chinese food, he noticed that House hadn't finished his chicken teriyaki. As usual, Wilson leaned against House as they watched the baseball game, but he noticed that House dozed off before the fifth inning. Symptom, or just a natural consequence of snuggling on the couch?

The next morning, he came out of the shower and was putting on his clothes when House entered the bathroom and turned on the water. He pressed his ear against the door, and then he heard it, the unmistakable sounds of someone retching. He pushed open the door, and saw House hunched over the toilet. He filled a glass with water and passed it over to the man on the floor. House took it gratefully and rinsed out his mouth. "Thanks."

"How long has this been going on?"

House sighed. "Since I had the flu. It never got any better."

"That's almost two months. How much weight have you lost?" House only shrugged, not meeting Wilson's eyes. "Come on. Let me help you up." He fitted actions to his words, and then guided House to the bathroom scale. They looked down at the numbers that were displayed. "Nine pounds. You've lost nine pounds. How long were you going to wait before you tried to do something about it? Is there anything else I should know about? Any other symptoms?" House moved so that he could sit on the closed lid of the toilet. "Fatigue?" House nodded. "Fever?" House shook his head. "Anything else?" House shook his head, but wouldn't meet Wilson's eyes. There was something he wasn't telling Wilson. He thought back over the last few days, thinking there was something he should have noticed. Finally he remembered their lovemaking the other night, and decided to hazard a guess. "Sore nipples?"

House sighed. "A little."

In his mind, Wilson was tallying the symptoms, and any possible conclusions he could come up with were not good. "Let me run a few tests. Maybe we can figure out what's causing this."

"No. I won't become a guinea pig, just for a little nausea."

"Two months of throwing up is not just a little nausea. All you need to do is give me some blood. I just want to run a few tests."

"Fine. Now will you leave me alone so I can take a shower."

Later that day, James walked into Cuddy's office with the tubes of blood and a stack of lab slips. "I need you to authorize these tests."

She looked through the slips. Tox screen. CBC. Chemistry panel. Cancer markers. HIV. "Thorough."

"Yeah, I need to make sure I run everything, because I doubt he'll let me do any more tests if this batch yields nothing."

She signed the slips, and then looked up. "You'll let me know what you find?"

Wilson nodded, "I'll have the lab page you when they've delivered the results to me." Then he walked down to personally deliver the vials to the lab.

All day long, he tried to concentrate on work, but mentally he was counting down the hours until the results would arrive. Finally his assistant knocked on the door and handed the folder to him. Now that it was here, he placed it in the center of his desk, and tried to find the courage to open it. He sighed, and began leafing through the pages, scanning the numbers quickly while he searched for the value he was looking for. He picked up the last page and found it -- Beta-hCG 25,300 IU/L. The computer had helpfully highlighted the reading with several asterisks, as if a number that was four orders of magnitude higher than normal levels wouldn't have been obvious enough to an oncologist.

Oh God. Not this. It was one thing to have some vague fears and suspicions, but quite another to have them confirmed in black and white. He sat there for quite a while, trying to control his emotions. Why now? When he was truly happy for the first time in his life. How could he tell House? How would he react? And then an even worse thought came into Wilson's mind – would House agree to treatment? He was so proud, so stubborn. So reluctant to be seen as weak. Even after all of these years, Wilson could not predict what his response would be. He had to be calm, for any minute Cuddy would be knocking on his door, and above all else, House's privacy had to be protected.

Soon enough, the knock came, and his boss sat down in the chair in front of his desk, a curious reversal of their normal positions.

"It's not drugs. Tox screen came back negative for everything except Vicodin, and even that was on the low end of where I would expect it to be. There's nothing in this report that should concern you as an administrator of this hospital."

She noted his choice of words, and looked at her head of oncology, who wasn't as good at hiding his emotions as he thought he was. The man looked shattered. "So you do know what's wrong with him?"

"Yeah. It'll be fine." Wilson replied, even though it was far from the truth.

Cuddy looked at him for a moment before making a decision. "Is there anything I can do to help? Anything you need, no questions asked."

Wilson looked over at her, grateful that she had accepted his lie so easily. He thought for a moment. "I need a key to the clinic. I'll let you know if any supplies are used so that you don't come up short when it is time to do inventory."

"You'll have one within an hour," she replied.

He watched as the Dean of Medicine left his office, grateful that she hadn't asked any questions that he couldn't answer. Forty minutes later, the maintenance supervisor personally delivered the key. Now for the hard part.

It was almost 6:30 PM, and unless they had a new patient, House's team should be gone for the day. He found House in his office, chair tipped back, feet on the desk, eyes closed as he listened to music on his iPod. When Wilson entered the office, his eyes opened and focused on the manila folder. Without speaking, he held out his hand for the results, and Wilson forced himself to hand over the folder. House calmly flipped through the sheets until he stopped on the last page. He sighed. "Testicular cancer."

"Yeah. Probably."

To be continued.....

* * *

Author's note: Fanfiction apparently doesn't allow Greek letters. So therefore I had to write out "Beta". Sigh.

Some References:

Lance Armstrong and Sally Jenkins, It's Not About the Bike: My Journey Back to Life, Putnum (2000).

Wikipedia Tumor_marker

Wikipedia Human_chorionic_gonadotropin


	3. Images

Author's note: Thank you to everyone who has reviewed or favorited this story. I really appreciate it. I have been trying to upload this chapter since Friday. Two days later, and fanfiction is apparently over its little fit. Hope you enjoy this chapter, and more coming soon!

Chapter 3: Images

Wilson concentrated on keeping his voice steady, even though he wanted to curse and scream at the unfairness of the world. "We have no way of knowing the extent of the cancer. I want to do an ultrasound." House had picked up his Gameboy and was studiously ignoring Wilson. It was time for a different tactic. "I stole Cuddy's key to the clinic. We can sneak down there right now and do the test and no one ever needs to know." House was starting to look a little interested. "After we do the ultrasound, we can toilet paper the nurses station."

"Well, if you have gone to all this trouble to get into my pants, how can I disappoint you?" The next few minutes were spent formulating the plan of attack. House would act as a lookout while Wilson unlocked the clinic door. The trickiest part was getting past Cuddy who was still working in her office. The atmosphere of fun lasted until they were in exam room one and Wilson was fiddling with the ultrasound. House angrily removed his jeans and boxers and lay down on the exam table.

He noticed that House was not looking at the ultrasound, but had turned his head so that he was staring at the wall. He passed the wand over House's parts, looking intently at the screen. He made sure that he captured several images to be reviewed by a radiologist. Not trusting what he was seeing, he kept staring at the image.

Finally House could not stand the wait any more. "Jesus, Wilson, aren't you done yet?"

"There's nothing here. Testicles are clean."

House was still staring at the wall. "Then it is somewhere else."

Wilson had to admit that House was right, but the beta-hCG marker was fairly specific for the testicles. As he tried to think, his eyes were drawn to where House's shirt had ridden up slightly. Was it his imagination, or was his abdomen slightly distended? It was fairly subtle, and normally wouldn't be noticeable, but with House's recent weight loss, there was a very slight curvature that didn't look natural.

"I'm going to look at your abdomen," he explained, applying more ultrasound gel. Almost immediately he could see that there was something abnormal. As his brain caught up with the images his eyes were seeing, his hand fumbled and he dropped the ultrasound probe.

He took a few deep breaths. "It's not cancer," he whispered.

"How can you be so sure?" There was a thread of hope in House's voice.

Wilson repositioned the probe; it was still there. He couldn't believe what he was seeing. "Because a tumor doesn't have a heartbeat."

They both looked at the screen, too stunned to say anything. House drew in a shaky breath. "Damn."

Wilson looked at the screen. "I know what it looks like, but it can't be."

"So what the hell is it?"

"I don't know," Wilson replied. "I've never seen anything like it."

House sat up and began wiping the gel off of his stomach. He slid off the table, and quickly was out the door. Wilson was still shutting down the ultrasound machine, and then he had to lock the door of the clinic. When he was done, he looked around and House was long gone. He hurried out to the parking structure; House's car was missing. He sighed. All he could do was go home and hope that House would show up soon.

* * *

The establishment was slightly on the seedy side, but the man behind the bar always remembered a face and would have your drink waiting on the bar by the time you crossed the room. He knew when to serve a drink silently, or when a customer wanted to talk. He also had the smarts to gauge when to call a cab for a customer too bombed to drive home.

When House walked into the bar, his plan was to get as drunk as possible, hoping that the anesthetic properties of ethanol would numb his brain so that he could forget that _thing _inside of him. Whatever the hell it was. The scotch on the rocks was already waiting for him, and he silently handed over his money and watched as the bartender moved away to serve another customer. It wasn't until the cold alcohol hit his stomach that he remembered he hadn't eaten anything but a handful of crackers all day.

He pushed himself off of the barstool, praying that he could make it to the bathroom in time. He almost didn't. He retched until he felt like his stomach lining was going to come unglued. He leaned against the wall, feeling dizzy and weak. Automatically his hand reached into his left pocket for some crackers, but came up empty. Damn, without the crackers he was afraid to move, or else the nausea would overpower him again. The aroma of the bathroom certainly wasn't helping. He closed his eyes and leaned back against the wall. At least that way he didn't need to watch the room spin. He wondered how long it would be before someone found him.

"Hey, buddy, you OK?"

House opened one eye and saw the bartender leaning over him. "I'll give you a hundred bucks if you will run across the street to the 7-Eleven and buy me a box of crackers.

"A hundred bucks for a box of crackers?" He watched as House nodded. "OK, it's your money. Will you be OK if I leave you alone here for a few minutes?"

House nodded and closed his eyes. Eventually the bartender returned with the crackers and House was able to get off of the bathroom floor. He went back to his seat at the bar, idly munching on crackers, hoping that soon he would feel well enough to drive.

The bartender placed a glass in front of House. "Ginger ale," the bartended explained, waiving off House's attempt to pay for the drink.

The liquid did settle his stomach, and the lightheaded feeling was disappearing. Finally he felt well enough to drive, so he walked out to the parking lot. He debated whether to go home, but he didn't really want to talk with anyone, especially James. He still needed to process what had happened that evening. To figure out what was wrong with him. Finally he decided to go to Wilson's apartment, which hadn't been lived in for over two months. It still contained most of Wilson's possessions as well as an answering machine to give the appearance that someone still lived there. He fell onto the bed fully clothed, and his last thought was that it was ironic that he was here in Wilson's bed, while Wilson occupied his bed. All night long, he kept waking up, always reaching for the man that wasn't there.

Across town, Wilson was also not getting much sleep.

TBC


	4. A Second Opinion

Chapter 4: A Second Opinion

The next morning, Wilson had several meetings and immediately after, had back-to-back appointments with patients. He didn't have a break until 11:30, when he went looking for House. He found the diagnostics team in their conference room, but they hadn't seen their boss all morning. He checked all of House's usual hiding places – coma guy's room, the oncology doctor's lounge, the obstetrics call room, and the ER waiting room. No House. He was passing the clinic when he saw Cuddy. "Have you seen House?"

"No. Should I be worried that he's up to something?"

"No, I was just trying to find him for," Wilson paused, "a consult."

Cuddy didn't believe him, but let it slide. Wilson looked even worse than he had yesterday.

"He was here for his clinic hours this morning," supplied the desk nurse helpfully. "He left at 10:30 when his shift was done."

Wilson contemplated revisiting all of the usual hiding spots, but decided that if House didn't want to be found, he wouldn't be. He went back to his office and tried to concentrate on reviewing charts.

At that moment, House was in the medical reference library located in the hospital basement. At the scowl on his face, the medical student abandoned the computer terminal and the librarian decided to ignore the fact that he was eating crackers, clearly in defiance of the 'no food or drinks allowed' sign. Even in this distant corner of the hospital, House's reputation had proceeded him.

Eventually he was surrounded by papers and open reference books. He looked at his watch; General Hospital was about to begin. He shoved the papers into his backpack and limped to the door.

"Dr. House, is it all right if I re-shelve the books?" the librarian managed to ask.

"Whatever," he replied. None of them had provided the answers he needed. He made his way up to the obstetrics call room, where there were comfy chairs and a plasma screen TV. Obviously there's good money in delivering babies. He figured it was a pretty safe hideout, because he hadn't used it in several months.

Fortunately, the room was unoccupied when he arrived, and he sank into a chair as the opening credits to General Hospital were about to roll. The show was almost over when someone entered. It was Barry Coleman, one of the few doctors that had been amused, rather than upset, with House invading their space.

Without speaking, he sank into the chair next to House, and they both stared at the TV screen. "I thought she was dating that other guy, the one with the blond hair."

"That was months ago, before she realized she was carrying Ryan's baby. Now she's sleeping with his brother."

Barry shook his head; it was too complicated to keep straight. He only watched the show when he was feeling stressed. They watched until it was over, when House asked, "in your profession, how many abdominal ultrasounds do you think you've looked at?"

"I don't know. Thousands, I guess." His mouth quirked into a smile. "I'm not like McDonalds, with a sign over my head reading 'over 3,000 served'."

"So you've seen some odd things, right?"

Barry grinned, "I specialize in high risk pregnancies. If it's weird, it's probably crossed my desk. Why?"

"It's just…" House paused. "There's this ultrasound that makes no sense. I need a second opinion."

"You have the film?"

"No. This one needs to be done in person."

"Can she get in this afternoon? Mrs. Garvey isn't going to deliver for a few hours and the floor is fairly quiet today."

House pulled out his phone and turned it on. Immediately he saw the message – eleven missed calls. He dialed a number from memory. "Hey, it's me." For a minute he only listed to the voice on the other end of the line. He sighed. "Can you meet me in about ten minutes?" He looked up at Barry. "Where?"

He repeated the room number to the person on the phone and hung up. Five minutes later they were in the OB exam room when Wilson walked in, looking surprised at the third occupant of the room. "House? What's going on?"

"Second opinion," was the reply.

Barry was confused. "I thought your patient was meeting us here?"

By that time House had loosened his belt and had climbed up onto the exam table. "Nope. I'm it. Go on Wilson, show him. Maybe he'll have some idea what the hell that thing is."

House laid back as Wilson applied the gel and picked up the ultrasound wand. Almost immediately he found it. House sighed; so much for the hope that it had been some kind of hallucination. Damn.

Barry shrugged and looked at the ultrasound. "What the hell?" He looked closer. "That looks like a…" He couldn't even bring himself to finish the sentence, it was so absurd. Now Barry knew why House had asked for his help. He took over the ultrasound wand, and the room was silent as he moved it across House's belly, trying to visualize the major organs of the abdomen. It had been years since he had examined a male patient, but everything looked normal, except for that one thing. "Obviously it isn't what it looks like. There's no way it's a baby."

House sat up, and his voice was angry. "Fine. Great. It's not a baby. According to Wilson it's not a tumor. According to you it isn't a baby." He was almost shouting now. "I don't want to hear about what it isn't. I want to know what it is!"

"Parasite?" Barry suggested.

"So how many times have you told someone with a parasite to expect a little bundle of joy in a few months?" House replied.

"Never. Parasites usually aren't mistaken for babies."

"Fine. But what if you weren't sure? How can you tell the difference?" House asked.

"Most obvious would be a pregnancy test. Parasites wouldn't cause an increase in," he took the paper House handed him, "beta-hCG levels." His voice trailed off as he read the numbers. "You're not pregnant. This just means you've got…"

"Testicular cancer?" supplied House. "Head of oncology doesn't think so."

"That's the only possibility!" Barry snapped back.

"Ultrasound might suggest otherwise," House replied, before his shoulders sagged and all fight seemed to leave him. "I just want to know what the hell is wrong with me," he whispered, and for a moment, Barry could see the fear lurking in his eyes.

"Why don't we go back to my office and discuss this. I'm sure the nurses are starting to wonder what three male doctors are doing in here without a patient."

House wiped the gel off of his stomach and slid off of the exam table. As they made their way to Barry's office, he heard the obstetrician murmur to one of the nurses, "I guess our patient chickened out on us."

When they entered the office, Wilson's eyes fell on the whiteboard occupying one of the walls. "You mind if I get rid of some of the drawings?" he asked.

"Sure, my kids will replace them next time they visit," Barry replied.

As Wilson erased the board, House slumped in one of the chairs, propping his right leg on a trashcan as a makeshift footrest. He watched as Wilson drew three columns on the board and labeled them: cancer, parasites, pregnancy. Wilson turned around, somewhat enjoying being the master of the whiteboard for once. "OK. We have three potential diagnosis."

"Hello! Aren't you forgetting that I have a dick, which would clearly rule out the third possibility. Jimmy, you of all people can attest to the fact that I am a dude."

Wilson turned a bit red, but otherwise ignored House; it was usually a bad sign when House started to call him by his hated childhood nickname. "Now we will all agree that each diagnosis is somewhat problematic." House snorted, but didn't interrupt again. "I know each has at least one strike against it, but at this time these are the best we've got. I think that each one of us should take one of the possibilities and come up with any test that could prove or disprove his diagnosis. I'll take cancer, Barry pregnancy, which leaves House with parasites."

"You don't actually think Barry is going to succeed, do you?"

"Not really. In fact, all three will probably be disproven, but sometimes there's a lot of information in a negative result. How about we make this more interesting -- $500 to the winner?" Barry looked shocked, that they would bet on something like this, but eventually nodded when he saw House agreeing as well.

They worked in silence for a while, every once in a while one of them moving to write a new test on the board. It was when House was finished with his own relatively short list that he began reading the other lists. His jaw dropped when he read the last item on Wilson's list. "Sperm count!!! Are you trying to help Barry by proving I'm not really a man?"

"No. It's just a fairly low tech way of seeing how your testicles are functioning. Any idiot with a microscope can do it. I may even run it myself."

"You going to collect the sample as well?" House asked.

Again, Wilson turned bright red as he opened and closed his mouth a few times, no words emerging, while Barry ignored the second somewhat suggestive comment of the afternoon. House ignored the effect of his words and continued to scan the lists on the board, moving on to Barry's list. "A few blood tests are fine, but someone is going to notice if we use the MRI."

Wilson looked at his watch. "Let me see what I can do. I hope she's still in her office." He dialed a number. "Dr. Cuddy. This is James Wilson. Are you going to be in your office for the next few minute? OK, great. I'll be down soon." He hung up the phone. "Start writing up lab slips." He looked up from his writing to see the wariness in House's eyes. "Don't worry. She agreed to no questions asked." House sighed and nodded.

When Wilson arrived in Cuddy's office, she didn't even look at the lab slips before signing them. At the request for the MRI, she looked thoughtfully at him, but didn't ask any questions.

When he returned to Barry's office, he found that Barry had done the blood draw and House was off collecting the other samples. When they were all together in the office again, Wilson had some news. "I called radiology and they were able to get us in at 7 PM. Barry, will you be able to do the MRI yourself? I think it's best if we let the radiology tech have a break."

Barry nodded. "No problem."

As they waited for their MRI appointment, Barry began taking House's medical history. Wilson listened in as House described the nausea, vomiting and other symptoms. He was surprised to hear how certain foods increased the nausea: seafood, coffee and alcohol.

"Alcohol? I haven't seen you drink in almost two months."

"That would be last night when I attempted to get drunk. One swallow and I was puking my brains out."

At 7 PM, they were all down in the MRI room. Wilson disposed of the radiology tech with a $50 bribe, and handed over House's pager. "We'll page you when we're done." She was a little leery about leaving, but in the end decided that it must be OK since the Dean of Medicine had personally signed off on the orders. As Barry began setting up the scan parameters, Wilson helped Greg onto the table. When he arrived in the booth, Barry was ready. "OK House, we're ready to begin."

As the machine began the whirring and clunking noises that accompanied the scans, House closed his eyes and tried to forget all of the other times he had been trapped in this modern day torture device. Scans that had always revealed bad news, and he had a feeling that this time would be no different.

Inside the booth, the obstetrician and the oncologist were looking at the images as they came up on the screen. Barry was staring intently at the screen, before he typed in a few commands to modify the scan.

When the revised scan was completed, the machine stopped, and over the intercom they heard House grumble, "OK guys. I know you probably think that this is funny, but can you please get me out of this coffin?"

Barry leaned over to talk into the microphone. "I need you to sit tight. I want to run another scan with T2-weighting."

"Fine. Whatever."

When the scan was done, House went to put on his clothes, and Wilson and Barry paged the tech. They downloaded the scan file onto a disk and then deleted the file. They went back to Barry's office where they looked at the MRI results. When the lab results arrived, they adjourned to the diagnostics conference room, which had more table space and was currently free of House's underlings. Wilson took the stack of computer printouts, and like a Vegas blackjack dealer, passed each sheet to the doctor who had requested the test. For a long time, no words were spoken, except for the occasional request for a piece of paper, which was silently handed over.

TBC

Another reference:

Deborah Levine (Ed.) Atlas of Fetal MRI, Taylor & Francis, Boca Raton, 2005.


	5. An Impossible Diagnosis

_I have added an author's note at the bottom of the chapter._

Author's note: Here's another chapter. I didn't want to leave you hanging too long.

Chapter 5: An Impossible Diagnosis

When Barry was finished, he looked up and saw that House and Wilson were finished and were waiting for him. "Sorry. So, who's first?"

"House?" Wilson suggested.

"Ultrasound and MRI show a foreign body in the abdomen, which clearly has a heartbeat. Features are inconsistent with a parasite. Blood, stool and urine samples show no indication of parasitic activity. OK, Wilson, you're up."

"Beta-hCG is very specific as a marker for testicular cancer, yet both ultrasound and MRI show no abnormalities in the testicles. Biopsy is negative. Sperm count is also normal, indicating that nothing is affecting testicular function." From the corner of his eye, he could see the smirk on House's face. "A beta-hCG count of 25,300 IU/L could indicate that the cancer has metastasized, but what is in his abdomen doesn't look like any tumor I have ever seen. Also, other non-specific markers such as AFB and LDH should be elevated, but they are all within normal ranges. The only thing consistent with cancer is the extremely high beta-hCG."

House was looking expressionless as another potential diagnosis was shot down. "Now for our third contestant."

Barry consulted his notes and then began. "Both ultrasound and MRI are consistent with a fetus. Gestation sac measures 48 mm, and the fetus has a crown to rump length of 44 mm. This would be consistent with a fetus of roughly 11 weeks, which would put the date of conception somewhere around August 1st through 4th. Progesterone and estrogens are all at levels consistent with the estimated gestational age. Beta-hCG is low for a normal pregnancy, but is completely consistent for an ectopic pregnancy." He looked up from his notes and saw the horrified looks on the other doctors' faces. He'd been so intent on the bet that he'd forgotten that there was a real person behind the symptoms. "Of course, we know it isn't a baby," he concluded, rather lamely. In the silence that followed his pronouncement, the two other doctors silently reached into their pockets and pulled money out of their wallets, and handed it over to Barry.

Then House was out of his chair, pacing back and forth along the length of the conference room muttering, "August first," under his breath. "Damnit. August first." Realization dawned, and now he was almost shouting. "How could she have… Why would she have done this to me?"

Wilson ached to see the agony in his lover's eyes. "Who are you talking about? How do you know that someone did something to you?"

House didn't appear to have heard him. "Why didn't she do something to you? Why me? She was your patient!"

"Who are you talking about?"

"She died at the end of July. The girl in foster care with the weird name."

"Kayla? You think she has something to do with this?"

"Well, on August first I was talking with a dead chick, and Dr. Coleman say that's within the estimated date of conception. I don't think it's a coincidence."

"Are you sure it was August first?" asked Wilson.

"Yeah, it was the same day we." He trailed off and raised his eyebrows at Wilson, who was looking confused. "The carpet in your office," he prompted. "Jesus Wilson, no wonder you've been divorced three times!" Wilson was blushing now.

"Are you sure you didn't dream this? It sounds pretty far fetched," suggested Barry.

"And being pregnant isn't?" shot back House,

Then Wilson whispered, "I saw her that night, too." He was looking pretty spooked.

"Oh great, now we have to start running embarrassing tests on Wilson," grumbled House.

"No, because I'm not the one who's been puking for the last two months; we just talked a little bit."

"About how to screw up my life?" Greg asked.

"No, nothing like that." Wilson paused, wondering how much to reveal. "Haven't you ever wondered _why_ I kissed you that night? After all these years of knowing each other?" He watched as House nodded, remembering. "I guess you might say I got relationship advice from a dead twelve-year old."

"Glad that worked out well for you because she clearly doesn't know shit about anatomy. Why would she do this to me?"

"I have no idea."

House looked over at Barry who was looking a little uncomfortable at the somewhat personal nature of the recent conversation. Barry was also reeling from how fast the diagnosis had gone from something akin to a joke to being seemingly real. House sighed. "Well, we now know what's wrong with me, and we now have an idea about how it happened. So what do we do about it?"

For the first time tonight, Barry was in familiar territory. "I suggest that we try a non-surgical option first. A single dose of methotrexate." He saw Wilson's eyes widen at the mention of the chemotherapy drug; House was looking expressionless. "I'd suggest having Wilson administer it on Friday, so that if there are any side effects, you can deal with them over the weekend. Cell growth will stop, and then we should see hCG levels begin to drop. The tissue should be adsorbed by the body, but if not, it will be necessary to do a laparoscopy."

"So one weekend of excessive puking, and then I can finally stop feeling continually nauseous?" He waited for Barry's nod. He thought about it for a moment, before capitulating, "As long as it isn't in the oncology clinic. How long do you think it would take for everyone in the hospital to know I have cancer? Of course, that would still be better than having everyone know the real reason. To be a freak, in addition to being," he didn't finish the sentence, but the unspoken phrase "a cripple" seemed to hang in the air.

"We have to do it in the hospital in case you have an adverse reaction," exclaimed Wilson. He looked over at House, who was looking stubborn. "Fine. We'll do it in my office, but Cuddy is going to need to know and sign off on it. People get a little upset if chemo drugs go missing."

House nodded. It was better than he'd been expecting. Hopefully, Cuddy would go along with it and would keep her opinions to herself. They began gathering up the papers that were scattered across the conference table.

Wilson turned to his colleague. "Barry, do you want to join us for dinner? I thought we'd stop at the Wok Shop on the way home."

Barry glanced at his watch. "Nah. If I leave now, I can probably see my kids before they go to bed."

Wilson looked up from the papers he was stuffing into a folder. "Thank you. For everything."

Barry nodded, and turned to look at House who was staring off into space. "House. I'm sorry." At what, he wasn't entirely sure – the diagnosis, the treatment, or maybe just the whole situation. House nodded, but didn't meet Barry's eyes.

Silently, they all walked out to the parking structure.

TBC

* * *

New Authors Note: I know that some of you may be horrified that Barry made the suggestion to end the pregnancy. My reasoning for this is that he would consider this an abdominal ectopic pregnancy (ectopic refers to any pregnancy occurring outside the uterus). Standard treatment in this case is ending the pregnancy, as this condition is considered life threatening to the mother and with very little chance of the fetus surviving to term.

* * *

Authors Note: I never thought I would write an mpreg story, but then I had the interesting idea to do some research on beta-hCG (I don't even remember why exactly), and what I found was that it is what is tested for in a blood pregnancy test, and that in men, it is marker for testicular cancer. Many of the early symptoms of both pregnancy and testicular cancer are similar, as they are both caused by the body's reaction to high levels of hCG. Which lead to the thought that Wilson would see a set of symptoms, and would have definitely run a test for hCG, and would diagnose testicular cancer. As I continued the research, I found that the blood levels at the end of the 1st trimester would be on the same order of magnitude as a man with advanced testicular cancer. I was amazed at how well the numbers did correlate. So if a man was pregnant, it would initially present as cancer (and Wilson's an oncologist, how convenient). So then, I tried to imagine how it would go from that diagnosis, to a diagnosis of pregnancy, especially in a world where male pregnancy was not allowed, except in the case of where there was a bit of supernatural intervention. And thus, the story was born almost fully formed in my mind, and I have spent the last few years writing it down.

More references:

Deborah Levine (Ed.) Atlas of Fetal MRI, Taylor & Francis, Boca Raton, 2005.

Wikipedia: Tumor_marker

Wikipedia: Human_chorionic_gonadotropin

BabyMed dot com (pregnancy calender)


	6. A Voice from the Past

Chapter 6: A Voice from the Past

On Thursday, House was remote, unreachable. Their patient had been discharged that morning, and the diagnostics team was happy to leave him alone in his office.

Once again, Wilson was forced to ask a favor of his boss, and once again, to lie to her. "This should be the last thing I need," he said, handing over the request. "I don't want House to know that you know anything about this. He doesn't respond well to pity."

She knew the implications of the methotrexate, and she looked up with concern in her eyes. "Will he be all right?"

"After he gets over the side effects of the chemo, he should improve quickly." Of course she believed him, and it was even the truth. The lie had been unspoken, allowing her to draw her own conclusions about the underlying cause that was being treated. Why else would an oncologist treat someone with a chemotherapy drug? Cancer was the only logical conclusion, for the real reason was completely unfathomable. A lie of omission.

* * *

Friday dawned clear and cold, and Wilson was up early for a 7AM department meeting. As House lay in bed eating his morning ration of crackers, he finally remembered the conversation with Kayla. Like a fuzzy image that suddenly comes into focus, he could suddenly remember every word that had been spoken. All morning long, as he sat at his desk, he could hear their conversation in his mind.

His team was ensconced in conference room, occupied with whatever they seemed to do when they didn't have a case. In his office, he ignored all of his usual amusements—the gameboy, the ipod, the red tennis ball. His fingers moved deftly across the keyboard, and the printer began spitting out pages. When Cameron came in two hours later, she was surprised to see most of the surfaces around the desk stacked with papers. "Do we have a case?" she asked.

"No. I am just printing dirty stories out so I have something to read while I am doing clinic duty."

She looked back at him, unsure if he was telling the truth, but then left him alone.

For hours, he sat hunched in his desk chair, head resting on his cane, still trying to work through the muddle of his thoughts. Medical studies, facts and statistics were not offering him the answers he sought.

It was 3 PM, two hours before his appointment with Wilson. He walked out onto his balcony and then awkwardly maneuvered over the low wall onto Wilson's balcony. As usual, the door to Wilson's office was unlocked. He searched around the office until he found Wilson's address book. He turned to the back and found the number he was looking for. He sat at Wilson's desk and picked up the phone and began dialing.

Almost immediately she answered. "James! What a surprise."

Ah, the magic of caller ID. "Stacy. It's House."

"Why are you calling from Wilson's office?"

"Because I wasn't sure if you'd answer if my number appeared on your ID."

"We haven't spoken in over a year. What do you want, Greg?" There was no warmth in her voice, but it wasn't overtly hostile, either.

"I need to see you tonight."

"I don't think so, Greg. Things with Mark are going really well. I just don't think it's a very good idea to see you."

"I don't want to screw with your marriage. I just need to talk to you." There was silence on the other side of the line, and he could sense her skepticism. "I'm seeing someone," he finally offered. "We're, um, living together."

This was news to Stacy. Of course, Lisa and James rarely mentioned Greg. "All right," she finally agreed. "Why don't you come by the house. I usually get home by 5:30 PM." She paused, and then felt compelled to add, "Mark will be there. He only works until noon on Fridays."

"Fine. I'll see you both tonight." He hung up, and began searching Wilson's office again. He found a piece of paper and scrawled a message: I'll be home later tonight. He paused for a moment and then added: Don't worry, I'm OK. It probably wouldn't do any good. Five minutes later, he was walking out of the hospital.

As soon as he arrived home, House started searching through the apartment. One would imagine that it would be hard to misplace something as large as a shoebox, but it was a box that he had tried not to think about for a very long time. He finally found it pushed to the back of the hall closet. He opened the box, and started shifting through the pictures that had been thrown haphazardly into the box.

He finally found the one he was looking for, and he used a magnet to place it on the refrigerator door, where James was sure to see it. He stared at it for a long time, debating whether he should leave it there. It was a memento of a life lived long ago, but it could explain so many things that he was unwilling to say. A thousand words. Maybe it could explain some of the things he had been unable to put into the note for Wilson. Finally, he decided to leave it where it was.

As he drove north on Highway 1 towards Short Hills, he tried not to think, focusing only on the road signs and the Rolling Stones blaring from the car speakers. An hour later, he pulled into a quiet suburban neighborhood. There were huge lawns and large backyards, and trees meant for climbing. It looked like an ideal neighborhood to be a kid growing up in. For a while, he sat in the car, parked in front of their house. He looked at his watch: 5:25 PM. With a sigh, he maneuvered himself out of the car and walked up to the front door. He rang the doorbell, and waited until the door finally opened to reveal Mark with an infant held on his right shoulder.

"House. Come in. Stacy said that you were dropping by. She just called; she's been held up with an emergency meeting with a client, but she hopes to be home soon." He gestured to the sleeping child on his shoulder. "This is Kyle. I'm going to put him down for his nap."

As House followed him down the hallway to the nursery, he noted that Mark didn't seem to need the cane that was in his left hand, and he acknowledged the flash of envy he felt.

He watched as Mark laid the sleeping baby in the crib. "Why don't you go back to whatever you were doing. I'll hang out here." At Mark's inquiring look, he explained, "babies have the advantage that they don't feel the need to make small talk." Mark shrugged, but left him alone.

The baby seemed to sense that he was being abandoned by his father and started to whimper a little. House looked down at the crib. There were two options here: do something about the kid or have Mark come back in. He sighed and hung his cane on the side of the crib and leaned over to pick up the baby. He found himself looking into a miniature version of Stacy's eyes. The kid had Mark's nose. The man and the baby regarded each other suspiciously until the baby broke the staring contest and smiled up at the man holding him. Now what?

He shifted the kid onto his left arm and limped over to a nearby chair. He carefully lowered himself into the glider, and then lifted his leg onto the footstool. With his left leg, he set the glider in motion and found that the top of the footrest was also a glider, so that his right leg was motionless as he rocked back and forth. He looked down and already Kyle's eyes were closing. He shifted the baby into a more secure position and continued to rock. The tension of the last week began to bleed from his body, and gradually the rocking chair slowed as House's eyelids drifted shut.

Stacy checked her watch when she pulled into the garage: 6:15 PM. She hoped that Mark and House hadn't killed each other yet. Mark had clearly been unhappy about the unexpected visit, but there had been an unmistakable thread of desperation in House's voice that she couldn't ignore.

As she set her briefcase on the counter, she could see that the living room was empty. She walked down the hall to the office, where she found Mark working. "Where's House? Isn't that his car outside?"

"He's in with Kyle. Apparently babies don't make annoying small talk."

"Sounds like House."

Mark nodded towards the baby monitor on the shelf. "Kyle fussed a little, but other than that, haven't heard a peep from either of them."

"Thank you for being OK with him coming over. I have no idea why he's here, but somehow I think it's important." She leaned down to kiss her husband. "I love you."

She walked down the hall toward the nursery. She pushed open the door and her eyes immediately went to the glider, where her son and her former lover were both asleep. She looked down at the man, and was amazed at how peaceful he looked. She smiled; only in sleep was the brilliant mind of Gregory House truly at rest. She looked closer at the face of the man she had once loved. The stubble on his face only partially concealed the hollows of his cheeks, and there were circles under his eyes. She decided to let him sleep, but his eyelids fluttered open when she lifted Kyle out of his arms. For a moment she saw the confusion in his eyes before he remembered where he was.

"I see you've met my son." She paused, trying to find the right words. "Greg, I'm sorry. I should have sent you a birth announcement, or told you today on the phone. I wasn't sure how to tell you."

He shrugged, but she couldn't read the expression in his eyes. "I saw the announcement two months ago on Wilson's desk."

"I couldn't find his home address, so I sent it to the hospital. I should have told you myself." House didn't reply, and she tried to think of something to fill the silence. "How is James? I call but he's never home. Is he hiding in his office like he did after the second divorce?"

"No, he's pretty much living at my place."

"Doesn't your girlfriend object to Wilson sleeping on your couch?" Her eyes narrowed. "You were telling the truth when you said you were seeing someone, and not lying so I'd agree to see you?"

House sighed. "I am seeing someone, I don't have a girlfriend, and Wilson isn't sleeping on the couch." Stacy was still looking confused. "Wilson doesn't sleep on the couch because he sleeps in my bed. With me." He watched as her lips started to twitch. "What?"

She was laughing quietly. "You two have been flirting with each other for years, but I never thought either of you were serious! You were with me, and then there were all of Wilson's wives." House was scowling at her. "I'm happy for you both." She thought for a moment. "You know, James is probably the only person in this world that can handle you."

House shot her a dirty look, and tried to change the subject. "Looks like Mark won't be using the cane for much longer."

She smiled. "He's doing really well with his therapy. He mainly needs the cane when he's tired. I get the feeling that you didn't drive all this way to talk about my husband."

"No," House replied, standing up and limping over to the crib, so that he was looking down at the sleeping child. His back was to Stacy, so she couldn't see his face. "Did you ever tell Mark about our baby?" His voice was soft, and his back was to her so she couldn't read his expression.

Of all the things she had expected him to say, this was not it. Even before they broke up, it was not something they ever talked about. She sighed, and decided to answer him truthfully. "Not at first. It was something I never told anyone. Then I found out I was pregnant with Kyle. I was terrified that I would miscarry again. Somehow, I decided that if I did everything perfectly, it wouldn't happen – sleeping a minimum of eight hours a night, eating right, walking at least twenty minutes a day. One night, Mark made dinner, and I completely lost it; I was screaming at him because he had made fried chicken and there was no way I could eat something that unhealthy. I was yelling at him and I couldn't stop crying. I realized I was being completely irrational. So I finally told him. It made things a little easier when he knew it wasn't just pregnancy hormones."

For a while House was silent pondering her words. Finally he broke the silence. "How do you live with it?"

"Live with what?" she asked, confused.

"The fear."

The words were spoken so softly she wasn't sure she had heard him correctly. She was silent for a moment, considering. "At some point, you just have to let go of it. The stress wasn't good for the baby. Just admitting it helped a lot. I went back to seeing a therapist." She looked over at House, but there were no clues in the set of his shoulders. "One thing that really helped was that I joined a discussion board on the internet that was comprised of women with high risk pregnancies, or who had experienced previous miscarriages. It made me feel less alone, being able to talk with others who were aware of the darker side of pregnancy."

She saw him nod almost imperceptibly. As he turned, his shoulders straightened and she was aware that a mask of indifference had settled over his features. "I need to be getting back home. It's a long drive." She could only stare at him in shock. This was what he had driven over an hour for? As he brushed past her, she was again struck at how tired and ill he looked.

"Greg, wait," she called after him. "Why don't you stay for dinner," she suggested.

"No." He seemed to be considering his next words. He smiled thinly. "Thanks." He turned and continued out the front door.

She was aware of her husband coming up beside her, and was surprised at his words. "I wish he would have stayed for dinner."

"You heard?" she asked, amazed at the sincerity behind his words.

"Not intentionally," he explained. "Baby monitor."

She laughed, before turning back to watch House climb into his car. Her smile faded. "I just wish I knew what was wrong."

He nodded. "I know. The whole thing seemed pretty strange, even for House."


	7. A Short Detour

Author's Note: This is a really short chapter, but it is one of my favorite so far. Hope you enjoy it (and aren't too upset by it's length.) The next chapter is longer. I promise.

Chapter 7: A Short Detour

As House retraced his route back to the freeway, he tried to recapture the certainty that he had felt two days ago. Somehow the decision didn't seen so clear anymore. He found himself pulling into the parking lot of Barnes and Noble. He wandered through the store until he reached his intended destination. He looked at the huge selection of books. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all.

"Can I help you find something?" He looked at the young woman who was standing next to him. She pulled one volume off of the shelf. "This is one of our best sellers because it is really comprehensive." She handed him another book. "This one is my favorite because it breaks it down week by week. Is your wife pregnant?"

How could he get rid of this nosy woman? He found himself answering, "actually, I'm the one that's pregnant." His voice was dripping with sarcasm, but the fact that he had just spoken the truth suddenly made it seem so much more real.

She laughed at what she thought was a joke. "How far along is the baby?"

He was still reeling from his admission, and he automatically answered, "eleven weeks."

She smiled and grabbed one of the books out of his hands and began leafing through it. "How cool! That's when it really starts to look like a baby."

He found himself looking down at a picture of a fetus. Oh God, he couldn't continue to stand here. Suddenly, his hands were shaking, and his throat burned from unshed tears. "Gotta go." He grabbed the books from her and headed to the register as fast as he could walk. He threw cash at the smirking teenager behind the counter, and picked up his purchases.

He barely made it inside the car before the tears came. He tried to stifle the sobs that seemed to come from deep inside his chest, but there was no way to stop them. He wrapped his arms around his body and curled into himself, as much as was possible in the confinement of the driver's seat. When the tears dried up, he was exhausted. He rested his head on the steering wheel until he was fully in control again.

It was time to go home to face Wilson.


	8. A Thousand Words

Chapter 8: A Thousand Words

Wilson awkwardly pushed open the front door, his arms loaded with groceries. "House? Are you here?" There was no answer from the empty apartment. He thought back to the note he had found on his desk—don't worry. He snorted; he'd run the entire gamut of emotions in the last few hours – worry, anger, and lastly, helplessness.

He dumped the bags on the counter and was placing the groceries into their places in the cupboard with more force than was actually necessary when he saw the picture. Over the years, he had become fairly adept at deciphering the puzzle that was Gregory House, but this latest clue was a mystery. The groceries were abandoned on the counter as Wilson studied the picture. He pulled it off of the refrigerator and turned it over; there was nothing on the back to indicate when it had been taken. He looked at the two figures standing on the beach. It was obviously before the infarction, because there was almost no gray in Greg's hair, and both he and Stacy looked ridiculously happy. Why this picture, and why now? Stacy was a topic that they both studiously avoided.

He went back to putting away the groceries, and began making preparations for dinner. He kept glancing back at the photo, wondering what he was missing. He was chopping onions when he saw something out of the corner of his eye. He picked up the photograph again. It seemed so obvious now that he had noticed it. Stacy was pregnant.

She must have lost the baby, because he had never even known she was pregnant. So like Greg to go through personal hell alone, but he was surprised that Stacy hadn't said anything.

He turned back to the cooking, feeling like he had only partially unraveled the clue in front of him. He had originally planned on making a white wine reduction for the chicken, but had switched to a cream sauce when Greg had finally admitted that alcohol was one of several things that could trigger a new bout of nausea. Morning sickness, his brain clarified. Even two days later it was hard to wrap his brain around the thought that House was pregnant.

He had just placed the baking dish in the oven when the phone rang. Without thinking, he picked up the phone, "Hello?"

"James, it's Stacy."

"House isn't here right now." He tried to think of an excuse for why he was in House's apartment when House wasn't home, but his frantic thoughts were cut off by her next words.

"I know. He just left here a few minutes ago."

"What? He was there?" Wilson asked, not sure what to make of this new development.

"He called this afternoon and wanted to talk." She paused, trying to gather her thoughts. "I know I don't have the right to ask this, but is he OK?"

"Why? What did he say?" he asked, feeling a knot of worry beginning to form in his stomach.

"He asked about when I was pregnant with Kyle. We talked for a few minutes, and then he left. Unusual, but nothing seriously alarming. What worries me is how he looked – thin, tired. Ill. I can't help but think that there is something seriously wrong with him."

Again, Wilson felt ashamed that someone else had noticed what he had been unable or unwilling to see. He chose his next words with care. "He's been having some trouble with his stomach. Nothing too serious, but he's lost some weight and is probably a little anemic. Now that he's finally admitted there's a problem, he should bounce back pretty quickly."

"So you can treat the underlying problem?" she asked, having picked up some medical knowledge after working with doctors for so many years.

He thought of the methotrexate locked away in the bottom drawer of his desk at work. "Already have a treatment plan. He should be fine soon," but his words sounded hollow to his ears.

Apparently she believed him, because after a pause, she changed the subject. "He told me that you two are together. Is it true?"

He laughed, a little self-consciously. "Yeah, we've been together since August. Are you surprised?"

"Shocked, actually, but I'm happy for you both. I think if anyone could make him happy, it would be you."

He relaxed a little, and the rest of the conversation was spent discussing their respective jobs, as well as her family.

After he hung up the phone, he sat in the kitchen. When the timer on the oven beeped, he turned down the temperature and continued sitting at the table, occasionally picking up the picture of House and Stacy. Why had he gone to see Stacy? And why had he left the picture for Wilson to find? What was going through House's mind? Was he mourning the child they lost, and would he even let Wilson help him with that grief? Was that why he had delayed on the methotrexate?

He was still looking at the picture when he heard the front door open, and he could hear House's uneven gait coming towards the kitchen. He looked up, and saw that House looked tired, with every line of his body proclaiming his exhaustion. He went to the stove, and began dishing up the chicken and rice, and then added generous helpings of salad and steamed broccoli. When he turned back towards the table, he saw that House was sitting at the kitchen table and the photograph was now face down on the placemat across from him. James ignored the telltale redness of Greg's eyes, and wordlessly handed over the plate of food. He watched as Greg tentatively took a few bites, and then began to eat with more enthusiasm. Wilson sat down, and began eating as well.

They ate in companionable silence, until finally House was the first one to speak. "Did you and Julie ever think about having kids?"

Where did this come from? "Yeah. After I got promoted. We tried for about a year and a half, but nothing ever happened."

"Did you ever consider fertility treatments?"

Wilson shook his head. "I think we both realized that our marriage would have never survived that. I've seen much more stable marriages fail while trying to get pregnant." He was silent for a while. "I did go and get tested. I never told Julie I was going to do it. Sperm count and motility were fine. The problem was something with her, or maybe she never wanted a baby in the first place." He sighed. "Six months after we stopped talking about a baby, I found a packet of birth control pills in the glove box of her car. Maybe I'd forgotten the conversation where she told me she was going back on the pill – it wouldn't be the first time I'd forgotten something we'd discussed – but now I wonder if she ever stopped taking them in the first place. Maybe she didn't want kids, or maybe she didn't want to ruin her perfect figure."

He expected House to make a comment on the deceit of his ex-wife, but instead House was chuckling. "I can't believe you thought you were shooting blanks. Well, we certainly disproved that notion!" Wilson was looking confused. "Oh, come on! You knocked me up on our first date!"

The glass Wilson had been holding shattered on the tile. "It's mine?" he stammered.

"Whose did you think it was?" House asked, a little anger creeping into his voice. "Who else did you think I was sleeping with?"

"Nothing like that," Wilson quickly explained, grabbing a towel to wipe up the glass fragments. "It's all just so strange. I guess I never thought – it never occurred to me – that…" his voice trailed off.

"That my baby might have a daddy?" House supplied helpfully.

"Something like that. The normal rules of biology seem to be thrown out the window at this point." Wilson paused, before asking, "how do you know that it's mine, and that it didn't just, well, appear?"

House considered. "I don't know how I know. Somehow, I just feel that it isn't just my baby, but _our_ baby."

Wilson sat back down at the table and took a few more bites, trying to come to grips with the rather stunning statement. Finally he gathered his courage to ask, "what happened that night? On Wednesday, you said that Kayla was involved somehow. Do you know how and why this happened?"

House reached across the table, and flipped the picture so that it was right side up. He looked at it for a moment before he answered, "before she showed up, I was thinking about this. Eight years later, and I still wonder what things would have been like if my son had lived." He turned the picture face down again. "And then a dead girl shows up on my balcony and tells me that she is going to give me what I need. She disappears, and then you come out and we end up making love in your office, and now we are going to have a baby."

Wilson nodded. "It's completely logical and completely crazy, all at the same time."

When they were finished eating, they did the dishes in silence, and then retired to the couch, where House channel hopped until he stopped on the New Yankee Workshop. They propped their feet on the coffee table, and when the show was almost over, Wilson looked over and saw that House was fast asleep. Wilson smiled, House would never know if Norm had made it through the episode with all of his digits intact. The credits were rolling when the phone rang, and House didn't even move. Usually that level of unconsciousness only occurred after half a bottle of hard liquor. Wilson reached for the phone. "Hello."

"James. It's Barry. I just wanted to see how House is doing."

Wilson sighed. "We didn't do the methotrexate today. He's dealing with a lot right now, and I think he needs some time to think."

"A few more days shouldn't make that much of a difference. I just thought that he would want to get it over with as soon as possible and get on with his life."

"Until a couple of hours ago, that's what I thought he wanted." Wilson moved off the couch and went into the kitchen, where he could talk without House overhearing the conversation.

"What happened?"

"We managed to sit down and talk today. He finally let me know what's been going around in his head." He sighed, and then continued. "I don't think he wants to terminate the pregnancy."

"Jesus, are you sure?"

"No! I'm not sure, but I think that he's considering it."

As he waited for the shocked silence on the other side of the line to end, his eyes were drawn to the red backback sitting next to House's chair. The zipper was partially open, and it was easy to pull out the stack of photocopied journal articles. Passages were underlined, and he recognized House's writing in the margins.

"Does he have any idea how bad the odds are?"

James looked down at the pages in front of him. "Probably better than most of your colleagues," he replied absently.

"What about you, James?" Barry's voice was kind. "This is going to affect you as well."

Wilson sighed. "I just want him to be all right. The thought of him continuing the pregnancy scares the hell out of me, but if this is what he really wants, I can't ask him to terminate it." For a while, both men were silent, until James asked, "if House does go through with it, are you willing to help us? I think that is the only way I'd agree to this. You're the best OB/GYN in the area, and more importantly, House trusts you."

Barry's response was thoughtful. "I need to do some research, and I think that the three of us need to sit down for a pretty serious talk before any of us commit to this."

James agreed before adding. "I'll let you know as soon as _he_ lets me know what's going through his head."

They talked for a few minutes more, and after he hung up the phone, Wilson reached over to slip the papers back into the backpack where he had found them. He was sliding them in when he found the bag from the bookstore. Curious, he opened it, expecting to see a few new additions to the novels and autobiographies that lined the walls of House's apartment. Immediately, the pictures on the fronts signified his mistake, but he read the titles anyway: What to Expect When You're Expecting. Your Pregnancy Week by Week.

There was something almost childishly optimistic about having these books, given that this pregnancy was anything but normal. Wilson picked up the second book and began flipping through it. Somehow he found himself skipping to week eleven, and random phrases seemed to jump out at him. "Length of your baby is 1½ to 2½ inches" "Your baby is about the size of a large lime." "Fingernails appear."

He turned back to the beginning and began reading. The next time he looked up, it was after midnight. He put the books back where he had found them, and went out to the living room. House was still fast asleep on the couch. He prodded his lover awake. It was a sign of House's exhaustion that he slipped off his clothes and fell into bed without even brushing his teeth.

TBC

* * *

The Books in House's Backpack:

Heidi Murkoff, Arlene Eisenberg, Sandee Hathaway, What to Expect When You're Expecting, Third Edition, Workman Publishing Company, 2002.

Glade Curtis, Your Pregnancy Week By Week, Perseus Publishing, 2004.


	9. Saturday

Author's Note: Just wanted to say again, thank you to everyone who has reviewed or favorited this story. I appreciate your support.

Chapter 9: Saturday

The next morning, Wilson was laying in bed, mentally planning breakfast and the talk he needed to have with House when Greg's voice brought him to full consciousness. "Get the trashcan; I'm gonna hurl."

He swiftly responded, taking care to get out of bed carefully so as not to jostle his lover. He grabbed the trashcan, and shoved it close to the bed. He watched helplessly as House threw up the crackers he had just eaten. When he was through, House curled up under the covers. "Forgot to eat last night before bed," he explained.

"Can I help you to the bathroom?" Wilson offered.

"Can't," House gasped. "Didn't take Vicodin either." For the first time, Wilson realized that Greg's hand was kneading his right thigh.

"Where are your pills?"

"Jeans pocket, but I wouldn't be able to keep them down right now."

Wilson filled a glass of water for House to rinse out his mouth, and then went to the kitchen to grab a can of ginger ale. After another round of retching, House was finally able to keep the crackers and soda down, and was able to take the Vicodin. When the narcotic took effect, he was finally able to head to the shower as Wilson headed off to the kitchen to prepare breakfast.

Three macadamia nut pancakes later, House was finally beginning to feel human again.

Wilson was the first to break the silence. "Barry called last night. Wanted to see how you were tolerating the methotrexate." He looked over to where House was staring intently at his empty plate. "I told him that I thought you were reconsidering terminating the pregnancy."

"What did he say?"

Wilson noted that House hadn't denied it. "He thinks that we should get together and talk before making any decisions."

"What do you think?" The question was so quiet that Wilson almost didn't hear it.

"I've looked at the literature for abdominal ectopic pregnancies. The numbers are…. well, bad. The odds that you will carry to term are almost zero, and there's a very real possibility that you could die." When House looked up, he could see the unshed tears in Wilson's eyes. "I don't want to lose you, now that I finally know what I want."

"So you think I should end it." The words were flat, unemotional.

"I don't know." Wilson's answer was thoughtful. "There's so many things…. I guess I need to know why you want to do this. Why would you go through with this when the chances that the baby will survive are practically zero?"

"I know. Every paper I look up says the same thing: early detection and terminate the pregnancy. Everything tells me to just end it and get on with my life, but I don't think I can. I know the odds don't look good, but there _is_ a chance the baby will survive. It's only a small chance, but it's bigger than zero." He looked over at James. "Our baby. Yours and mine. This baby is a part of both of us." He ran a hand through his hair. "Maybe Kayla got it right and this really is what I need. Or maybe the twelve-year-old got it completely screwed up. I don't know, but what I do know is that this baby is a miracle, and you just can't give something like that back." House drew a shuddering breath. "I don't want to die, but I don't think I could live with myself if I didn't give our child a chance to live."

During this time, Wilson had been biting his lip, with silent tears streaming down his face. Greg stood up and came around the table, wrapping his arms around his lover, so that James was held in an awkward embrace, his face pressed into House's shirt. House was whispering, "please, James, I can't do this without you. Please."

Finally he got the answer he was hoping for. "All right." Wilson's answer was barely audible. "As long as Barry signs on as well."

TBC


	10. Harsh Realities

Chapter 10: Harsh Realities

Sunday afternoon, the three of them were again in Barry's office. To distract himself from the tension in the air, Wilson looked around and noted that the lists had been erased from the white board. Barry was shuffling papers, and House was staring intently at the floor.

Finally, Barry broke the silence. "I just wanted to make sure that we had really discussed the risks before we move forward. I've been spending the past day looking through the literature, looking at the case studies where abdominal ectopic pregnancies have been allowed to continue to term. The numbers don't look good." He picked up one of the papers on his desk. "According to Cohen, for an abdominal pregnancy, the maternal mortality rate is somewhere between 6-14%, and the fetal mortality rate is 90%." He picked up another paper. "One thing that seems to be a significant positive factor in most of the cases that have gone successfully to term is placential location on the uterus. Obviously, this is not a possibility here." He paused, before continuing, "I have no way of estimating the risks to you, but I can estimate that they would be higher than those tabulated by Cohen. I wouldn't even consider going through with this if you weren't both doctors."

Wilson could see that House was gripping his cane so tightly that his knuckles were turning white.

Barry looked up and then gave the bleak news. "I would say that there is less than a one percent chance of the fetus surviving to delivery." He waited until House looked up and met his eyes, and then he continued. "Unlike most pregnancies, where the biggest risk of losing the baby occurs in the first trimester, the risks will continue to increase as the fetus gets bigger. If there is insufficient blood supply to the baby as it grows, the fetus will die, and there may be no way of predicting when this could occur. The biggest risk is that the placenta could pull away from wherever it is attached, causing massive blood loss, and the baby could be lost and if there is no timely medical intervention, you could bleed out."

Barry grabbed another paper that was lying on his desk. "We can minimize these risks by delivering the baby at 34 weeks, but the odds are against sustaining this pregnancy even that long. If we do get to that point, the surgery itself will be dangerous, and there is a very real possibility that you could bleed out on the table."

He paused to let his words sink in. "The body is not designed to carry a fetus outside of the uterus. Your abdominal muscles will be taking up most of the work usually done by the uterus. You've probably read about all of the normal aches and pains associated with pregnancy. I can almost guarantee that for you, it will be worse. You are forty-six years old and clearly not in the best of shape. Pregnancy is hard on the body, even for someone who is young and perfectly healthy." He set the papers aside, and then looked up. His next words were kind. "Are you sure that you want to go through with this?"

House finally nodded, and then found his voice, "Yes."

"James?"

Wilson nodded as well.

"If I am going to be involved with this, I have two conditions, and they aren't up for negotiation. I know that both of you are doctors, and leaders in your respective fields, but pregnancy is my specialty. This is an extremely high-risk pregnancy, and there will be a time when bed rest will become necessary, if you manage to make it to that point. I need to know that you will not fight me when the time comes. The other condition is that you need to be completely honest with me. I need to know everything: every ache, pain, or funny feeling. I don't care how insignificant you think it is, you need to tell me. If I find that you have been hiding something from me, I will walk. Do we have a deal?"

When both nodded their agreement, he continued, "If you are sure, then we need to do everything to give this pregnancy the best chance for a good outcome. The most important thing is that I think we should have another OB on board, just for backup. I also think that we should have a couple of anesthesiologists briefed as well. If you start to hemorrhage and surgery is necessary, I don't want to spend precious time explaining the situation."

"Who do you suggest?" asked Wilson.

"Janet Larson. She's a great surgeon. She's a bit of a renegade; she frequently takes on cases that other doctors wouldn't touch because they consider them too risky. I think this is probably just up her alley. As for anesthesiologists, I'd suggest Richard Johnson and Jason Morgan. Both are top in their field, and both know how to be discrete."

House nodded. "Let's try and set up a meeting with them soon."

Finally they were down to the standard questions Barry would ask any patient, including family history of the standard diseases—cancer, diabetes, heart disease, high blood pressure, and stroke. It was when he reached blood clots, that another warning flag popped up. "Any family history of blood clots?"

"Six years ago." House answered, gesturing to his right thigh.

Barry listened in shock as House tersely explained the events that had lead to the removal of most of his thigh muscle. "You naturally have a higher risk of developing a clot, and pregnancy will increase that risk."

"Is there anything that can be done?" asked Wilson.

"Unfortunately, no. Blood thinners are too risky given the risk of hemorrhage in an abdominal pregnancy. You just need to be aware of the risk, and if there are any symptoms, to check them out immediately." Now that the family history portion was over, he moved on to the other questions. "How's your weight?"

"Lost nine pounds because I have been puking for 2 months straight."

Barry nodded. It wasn't a good sign, but not completely unheard of. He wrote out a prescription for Bendectin. "This won't completely eliminate the nausea, but hopefully will keep it so that you don't throw up. And hopefully the nausea will start to taper off in a few weeks. We'll need to monitor your weight pretty closely for a while. Pre-natal vitamins?" He looked up, and then answered his own question, "not exactly a planned pregnancy." He handed over another prescription. "Take these for the rest of the pregnancy, and try to eat as healthy as possible. I have several pamphlets that explain what you should and should not be eating." Now for the question he was dreading, given House's reputation. "Medications?"

"Vicodin for pain," House replied curtly.

Barry nodded. "Anything else?"

Surprisingly, it was Wilson that answered. "Nothing." At House's startled look, he elaborated, "I ran a tox screen because Cuddy was afraid you were doing cocaine or something because you had gotten so thin."

"Vicodin is a class C drug, so it is not considered safe for pregnancy, but there's no studies on how exactly Vicodin affects fetal development in humans. Some animal studies have shown adverse effects. Typically, the safest recommendation is to avoid this sort of medication, but on the other hand, massive pain has physiological effects on you, which in turn can adversely affect the baby. Withdrawal can also cause adverse effects. I would like you to cut down, as much as possible, and probably switch to other drugs that will have less of an effect on the baby. We need to talk with Richard about a new pain management regimen."

House nodded; Barry's request was reasonable.

"Do you have any questions?"

House shook his head, and Wilson was looking a little shell-shocked.

Barry smiled. "I know we have covered a lot today. Don't worry, that's par for the course. Here's my home number. Call me if you have any questions or if you think that something is wrong. I will let you know when I have arranged things with the other doctors. Because of the nature of this pregnancy, I would like to see you weekly. Seeing you up here in the OB/GYN clinic would eventually arouse some suspicion. Any thoughts of where we can meet?"

"I have a key to the downstairs clinic," Wilson suggested. "We could meet there as long as it is after the clinic is closed. We only have to worry if Dr. Cuddy is working late in her office."

"Wednesdays at 7 PM?" Barry suggested, and the other two men agreed.

TBC

* * *

Author's note: All of the numbers and information about standard abdominal ectopic pregnancies can be found in the following references. Of couse, Barry's estimates to the chance of House's baby surviving are my own invention, but plausible given the acutal info. Here are the references:

R. Beddock, P. Naepels, C. Gondry, P. Besserve, B. Camier, J.-C. Boulanger, J. Gondry,  
"Diangosis and current concepts of management of advanced abdominal pregnancy," Gynécologie Obstétrique & Fertilité, 32 (2004) 55-61.

J.M. Cohen, J.C. Weinreb, T.W. Lowe, C. Brown, "MR Imaging of a Viable Full-Term Abdominal Pregnancy, American Journal of Roentgenology, 145 (1985) 407-408.

V. Malian, J.H.E. Lee, "MR Imaging and MR Angiography of an Abdominal Pregnancy with Placential Infarction, American Journal of Roentgenology, 177 (2001) 1305-1306.


	11. As Normal as it Gets

Author's note: Sorry I didn't post a new chapter yesterday. I am having a week from hell, and so I may not be able to keep to the usual posting schedule, but I will try my best. At least for this chapter, the angst level has been turned down a little bit. Hope you enjoy!

Chapter 11: As Normal as it Gets

That Wednesday was House's first official pre-natal appointment, and it set a pattern that would be followed almost every week for the next few months. By the afternoon, House was in a foul mood, and his minions avoided him as much as possible. Before doing the ultrasound, Barry asked how House was feeling, and House supplied a list of symptoms, reciting them in the same impersonal manner that he listed the symptoms of his patients. It was only after the ultrasound confirmed that fetus was still all right that Wilson could feel House beginning to relax. Janet Larson was frequently at the appointments, and often one of the anesthesiologists was there as well.

The following Sunday, House and Wilson celebrated the fact that House had gone an entire week without throwing up. He'd gained three pounds, and no longer looked like an escapee from the oncology ward.

As the second trimester began, House noticed that his clothes were getting tighter. So he did what every man has done since the invention of the beer belly: he bought larger t-shirts and shoved his jeans lower on his hips beneath his belly, all the while insisting that he could still wear the same pants he wore in college. Wilson was secretly amused. Luckily the weather was turning colder, and the additional layers of clothing appropriate for fall helped hide the fact that House's belly was growing. The only thing his colleagues noticed was that he no longer looked painfully thin, and he seemed to have more energy.

Inwardly, Wilson was worried. They never talked about the baby, and House hardly acknowledged what was happening to his body. It was as if, by ignoring it, they could somehow insulate themselves from the pain if something went wrong. He knew that subconsciously, House did recognize the pregnancy, because he would usually eat the food that Wilson prepared without complaint, even though it contained more fruits and vegetables than their usual fare, and at lunchtime, a salad would often appear on House's tray. It was only when he was sure that House was fast asleep, that Wilson would move his hands down over his lover's belly, learning the new contours of his body. It was something he knew he could never do when House was awake.

November arrived, cold and icy, with reminders everywhere that the holidays were just around the corner, and with them, family commitments that couldn't be avoided. Both men were feeling a bit apprehensive, because it was close to the time to tell their families about their relationship, as well as the baby. In the end, they both took the easy way out, switching shifts so that they were working on Thanksgiving, and promising their families that they would see them in December. Another month to figure out how to tell them.

Thanksgiving found House scheduled to be in the clinic for seven hours, with only a short break around noon. One of the other doctors had come down with the flu, and it seemed like House saw an endless stream of kids that had ingested weird objects, shoved them up their noses, and people with indigestion and vomiting. Gotta love holiday get-togethers. Chase, moonlighting in the ER, was seeing the more violent effects of alcohol on family gatherings—contusions, lacerations, and stabbings.

The day had started out amusingly enough: the look on Cuddy's face when she realized House had traded Bob Jameson two hours of clinic duty on Christmas Eve for seven hours on Thanksgiving. The look on everyone else's faces was priceless – each of them was wondering what had they done to deserve seven hours of having Dr. House inflicted upon them. His leg had been aching all morning, and after four hours of sitting on the backless stool, his back was killing him. He hid out in his office during lunchtime, and then was back for another three hours, before Wilson finally came down to rescue him.

"How about dinner? I've heard the cafeteria actually produced a decent turkey dinner," Wilson suggested.

"Yeah right. Half of my patients today were puking because of improperly cooked poultry."

"Welcome to my world, except for the reasons why they are throwing up."

"Yeah, you guys intentionally poison your patients. Mine were all done in by loving family members who are too stupid to use a meat thermometer." House used his cane to push himself off of the stool. He stretched, trying to relieve the knots in his back. "There ought to be a rule against making a pregnant man do seven hours of clinic duty."

"Well, you didn't need to trade with Bob. You could have just gone home for Thanksgiving and faced your parents and explained how you got knocked up."

House glared at him and limped down the hall towards the elevators.

* * *

Early December

As much as he hated the clinic, he was forced to admit that occasionally good things could happen there. It was 20 minutes before noon, and he figured that if he could take his time, this could be his last patient of the day, which was why he was listening to his patient describe in excruciating detail his business trip to Arizona. That was when he felt it. It was difficult to describe – a twitch or a flutter – but unmistakably the baby. He smiled and leaned back against the wall to relieve the muscles in his back. He didn't even realize that his right hand had moved to cover his belly. He smiled when he felt the movement again. When the patient began to describe the meals he had eaten on the trip, House's patience was exhausted.

"OK, that's enough. You have the flu. If you had actually read all of those articles you looked up on the internet, you would know that Huntavirus has an incubation period of 2-4 weeks, which means you wouldn't be showing symptoms for another 5-20 days. Go home! Take some ibuprofen for the aches and pains, drink lots of fluids, and quit wasting my time."

"But why did you keep asking me about my trip if it had no relevance?"

"I was hoping for something interesting—sleeping with a married colleague, or picking up hookers on the Indian reservation. But no, the most exciting thing about your trip was the fajitas. Which, by the way, is pronounced 'fa-HEE-tas' and not 'fa-GEE-tas'."

He scribbled a note on the chart and exited the clinic. "Dr. House signing out at 11:57 AM." Five minutes later he walked through his office and out onto his balcony. He considered climbing over the short wall that separated their balconies, but decided against it. Instead he threw pebbles at the door until Wilson stuck his head out. "I need a consult!"

Wilson was looking exasperated. "I'm with a patient," he said, looking back over his shoulder at the nervous looking woman on the other side of the desk.

"Would I interrupt if it wasn't important?"

Wilson rolled his eyes, and wisely chose not to answer. He excused himself and stepped out onto his balcony. "What is so important that I had to drop what I was doing?"

"I felt the baby move."

Instantly, Wilson's anger evaporated. "Really? When? What did it feel like?"

"It was five minutes ago, and it felt like a flutter. Kind of a weird feeling, but it was definitely the baby."

Wilson's eyes were shining with joy, and a little relief. "Finally! The book said anywhere between the sixteenth to twenty-first week, and you are already at twenty weeks. I was starting to worry."

"Yeah, me too." House admitted. "Are you ready for lunch? We're hungry," he said, his hand absently tracing his belly.

Wilson glanced back at his office and sighed. "First, I have to tell Mrs. Dalton that she has non-Hodgkin's lymphoma."

House was heading back into his office. "Well, I'd suggest not grinning like an idiot when you do so."

Wilson tried to think of a comeback and failed. He settled for glaring at his lover's back. He took a minute to compose himself before heading back into his office to deliver the bad news.

Two days later, House was again forced to admit that good thing could happen in the clinic. Barry was running the ultrasound probe across House's belly, and after pronouncing that everything looked good, he asked, "Do you want to know the sex of the baby?"

House and Wilson looked at each other, and then nodded in unison.

TBC


	12. It All Goes to Hell

Chapter 12: It All Goes to Hell

December 15th

Lisa Cuddy was late for a meeting. As she hurried to the elevator, she looked around and then turned to her assistant. "Why are there so many children around here? It's a hospital for goodness sake!"

"It's a teacher in-service day for most of the schools in the district, so all of the kids are out for vacation a day early," her assistant explained. "It was such a pain to find a babysitter today. Luckily the high schools were off as well, so the neighbor kid could watch Becky." She handed her boss a sheaf of papers. "Here are the latest donor numbers." She was about to say something about the kids running around, but just then the elevator arrived.

Two hours later, the hospital was $500,000 richer, and Lisa was heading back to her office. She watched as House and his team were walking towards an exam room. She noticed that House's underlings were ambling along, trying hard not to overtake their boss, and that House seemed to be hunched over his cane just a bit. She made a mental note to check in with Wilson. If there was anything seriously wrong with House, she could probably tell by how stressed his friend was.

It was one of those moments when time seems to stand still, when every detail is noticed and remembered in excruciating detail. She saw the two boys playing tag, and her brain computed the trajectory of the younger boy and saw that he was headed directly toward an unsuspecting House. She was opening her mouth to shout a warning when the kid swerved, and she thought that disaster was to be avoided, but his foot clipped the cane. The kid was behind House, who never saw it coming. The cane went sliding, and House seemed to fall in slow motion. He landed hard on his right side, and then she saw his body curl in pain.

When she got to his side, she could see he was pale underneath the stubble that covered his face. As she knelt down, she could hear him whispering "please don't let her die. Oh God, don't let her die."

She looked up at Dr. Cameron, who shrugged in confusion. "House. You have to tell me what's wrong. Is it the leg? House!"

Without opening his eyes, he whispered, "get Wilson."

"I don't know where he is," Lisa replied, feeling helpless. She looked up, and like an answer to an unspoken prayer, she saw Wilson sprinting across the lobby. "Hold on, he's coming."

He knelt beside House, instantly taking in the pallor and House's arms that were wrapped around his stomach. "Abdomen?" House nodded. Instantly, he stood up and began giving orders. "Chase, Foreman, we need to get him into a trauma room. Cuddy, we're probably going to need get him into surgery ASAP." He handed her a notecard. "Page these doctors. Tell them it's House and that we are probably going to need to do surgery." As she hurried to the nearest phone, she heard him say, "Cameron, I need you to get an ultrasound and a fetal heart monitor." Cameron must have questioned the order, because he snapped, "just get it, OK!"

When she arrived at the trauma room, House was curled up on his side on the exam table, and Foreman and Chase were in the process of cutting off his clothes. She moved to hook House up to oxygen. When the right arm was free, Wilson slipped on the BP cuff. "76 over 43. Damn." He looked up at Lisa. "Cuddy, can you start a line?" She nodded, and he picked up the phone. "I need 2 units of B positive in Trauma 2, and more standing by."

"What the hell?" Foreman's voice was confused. They had removed House's clothes, and were both staring in shock at his slightly protruding belly, which was really at odds with the thinness of the rest of his body.

"Cushing's?" Chase suggested.

Wilson ignored the irrelevant conversation because Allison was coming in with the equipment he had requested. He waited until the nurse delivered the blood, and then moved to hook up the fetal heart monitor. He sighed. "Baby is showing some signs of distress." He looked over where Cuddy was setting up the blood on the rapid infuser. "House, we need to locate the source of the bleed; where does it hurt?"

"Lower right quadrant."

He moved the ultrasound wand across House's belly, and the room grew silent as everyone realized what they were seeing on the screen. The only sound was a muffled "damn" from Foreman.

Finally he thought he could see it. "There it is. Cuddy, what's his pressure?"

"105 over 67." She looked over at the fetal heart monitor, and in a state of shock, she then stated what she saw on the screen. "Baby is doing a little better."

"Only because we're pumping in fluids." He looked up at Cuddy. "Where are they? Did you talk to them?"

"Richard is currently doing anesthesia for a liposuction, and is getting another doctor to take over the case for him. Janet was doing a D&C, and is scrubbing out. Barry was off campus, and is driving in and should be here soon. OR 3 should be available in another ten minutes."

She had barely finished speaking when Janet Larson hurried into the room. "What's the situation?"

"He fell hard on his right side, and is bleeding into his abdomen. Pressure is 105 over 67 after IV fluids and almost two units of blood in." Janet picked up the ultrasound wand and located the bleed.

She turned to House. "OK, House, we need to go in and stop the bleeding. I think we can do it with a laparoscopy. Try to do it minimally invasive. We need to keep your pressure up, so that we keep the stress on the baby to a minimum."

House spoke for the first time, "don't take the baby. Only if that is the only way for her to live. She's only 21 weeks. Too small."

She reached down to take his hand. "Don't worry. We're all on board. We've talked about this possibility, and we all know how you feel. Only if there is no other choice." After he nodded, she released his hand. "We need to get him up to get prepped for surgery."

The next few minutes were spent getting everything ready to transport House up to surgery, but Wilson just held on to House's hand and let everyone else do the work. Lisa could see that he was working hard at keeping his fear from showing on his face, and was only partially succeeding.

"It's time for him to go up," Janet said, gently.

Wilson tried to untangle his hand from House, but House was holding on to Wilson's hand for dear life. House looked up into Wilson's eyes. "I love you," he whispered.

Wilson smiled, but Cuddy could see that it wobbled a bit at the corners. "I love you too." He leaned over to brush his lips against House's. He moved to whisper something that only House could hear.

Cuddy watched as House closed his eyes and nodded, and then House was being wheeled off to surgery. She looked around at House's team, who were looking a little lost after seeing their boss being taken away. "What's the status of your patient?" she asked gently.

Cameron answered for the group, "we had just decided to run some more tests when he fell."

"Why don't you all continue on with the tests, and I will make sure that someone keeps you informed." They all nodded. "I think it would be best to keep Dr. House's condition just between us, all right?" Again, they all nodded their agreement and hurried away.

The only other person left in the trauma room was Wilson, who was looking a bit disoriented. "Do you want me to walk up with you?" she asked.

He shook his head. "I need to call his parents."

"Why don't you use the phone in my office," she suggested, leading the way. When they arrived, she stopped off at her assistant's desk. "I need you to arrange for plane tickets for Dr. House's parents to get here on the first flight you can get them on. They will be flying in from," she trailed off, and allowed Wilson to supply, "Atlanta." Her assistant was picking up the phone as she ushered Wilson into her office.

She was about to leave him alone, but he shook his head. "Please stay." So she sat down in one of the chairs facing her desk. She watched him pull another notecard out of his jacket pocket and begin dialing.

"Hello, John. It's James Wilson, Greg's friend. There's been an accident and Greg's been hurt. He's bleeding into his abdomen, and they've just taken him up for surgery."

She could not hear the other end of the conversation, but she guessed that the other man asked how bad it was. "It's pretty serious. I think you need to get here as soon as possible. Dr. Cuddy has started making arrangements." He handed over the phone, and she transferred House's father over to her assistant before hanging up the phone. Wilson stared at the phone for a moment before he picked it up again and began dialing from memory.

"Hi, mom. I need you and dad to do something for me. I need you to come to the hospital."

He listened for a minute before he continued. "I wouldn't be asking if it wasn't really important. I need you here as soon as possible. Please." She watched the expressions play across his face as he listed to the person on the other end of the line. "No, I'd rather just explain once you get here." He paused. "Thank you. I'll see you in about an hour. Have the front desk page me when you get here."

As soon as he hung up the phone, Wilson seemed to deflate. Now that he was no longer managing the crisis, he seemed lost, bewildered. He sank into the chair and buried his head in his hands. "I'm so afraid I am going to lose him."

Cuddy moved so that she was sitting on the edge of her desk, and reached out to rest her hand on his shoulder. "You've got some of the best doctors in this hospital making sure that he will be all right."

"But if he loses the baby, I don't know what will happen. I am so afraid that if she dies, he will retreat so far into himself that I will never be able to reach him. I'm afraid that it could kill him." He looked up, and she saw tears running down his face. "After I did all of the blood tests, I was so sure it was cancer. At least I understand cancer. I know the risks, the treatments, the odds, but I was devastated to think it was advanced testicular cancer. When I first saw the baby's image on the ultrasound, I was so relieved. But then he refused to terminate the pregnancy, and we stepped into the unknown. We have contingency plans, and we fooled ourselves into thinking that would keep anything bad from happening. Well look at what happened today."

He sighed. "We just tried not to think about all of the risks. We've been so happy lately." He looked up at Cuddy. "A week ago he felt the baby move for the first time. And then a few days later we found out that we are having a girl." He smiled weakly. "Two men, and we're having a girl. I remember thinking, do we have any clue what we are getting in to?" He reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose. "All of a sudden, it all seemed so much more real. If he loses the baby now, it is going to be even worse." He wiped the tears from his cheeks, and pushed himself out of his chair. "I need to get upstairs."

"Do you want me to come with you?" she asked.

"Please. I think I'll go crazy if I have to sit up there with only my thoughts for company."

When they got to the observation deck, it was obvious that the surgery had just begun. The intercom was silent, so he could only judge how well things were going by looking at the body language of the people below him. He watched as they hung another unit of blood. He finally forced himself to look at House, with all of the tubes and lines running into him. He couldn't bring himself to look any further. He turned away and looked over at Dr. Cuddy, who was looking at him with concern in her eyes.

She tried to think of something to distract Wilson. "Do your parents know about the baby?" she finally asked.

His laugh was grim. "They don't even know about me and Greg, let alone the baby. We were planning on telling our families at the end of the month. Hanukkah dinner with my family, Christmas with his family. Now I get to do it all by myself. If I didn't know any better, I'd say the bastard planned it this way."

"So his parents don't know either?"

"Nope, but at least I get to practice on my parents first, right?" He sighed. "I have a feeling this isn't going to go well."

She gave up trying to distract him, and they turned to watch the surgery below them. For Wilson, time seemed to lose all meaning, and he could only keep track of the passage of time by counting the number of units of blood that were hung. He took comfort in that it seemed to be longer since the last unit was needed. His pager went off, and he looked at the message.

"Your parents?" Cuddy asked. He nodded. "I can bring them up here," she offered.

"Thanks."

She left, and he was alone. He tried to think of what to say to them. The door opened, and Dr. Cuddy escorted them in. She nodded towards the door, and he knew she would be outside if he needed her. He walked over to embrace his mother. She was dressed in a tailored suit that was both expensive and tasteful. Her hair and makeup were perfection itself. His father was in a suit. They were both carrying their coats. He gestured at the bench behind them. "Why don't you have a seat."

"James, what's going on?" his mother asked. "Why did we need to come here?"

He turned back to look through the glass. "Do you remember my friend House?"

"Of course. How could we forget him?" His mother followed her son's gaze. "Is that him?"

"Yeah. There was an accident. He's bleeding into his abdomen."

His father spoke for the first time. "I'm sorry your friend is hurt, but why do you need us here? I was in a meeting when your mother called."

"Because he isn't just my friend." He took a deep breath and prepared to tell them the truth. "I love him, and he loves me." Wilson saw that they were looking at him in confusion. "We've been living together for four months." He waited for his words to sink in. "We sleep in the same bed."

Surprisingly, it was his mother that spoke first. "You're gay?" He nodded; now was not exactly the right time to explain bisexuality. "What did he do to you? I know this isn't something you would do on your own."

"Mom! It isn't his fault. If anything, I kissed him first."

She was looking absolutely appalled. "I can't believe that you and that man," her voice trailed off in indignation. "Do you know what he said to your Aunt Sylvia at your wedding?"

"Probably something completely inappropriate that you've always wanted to say to her yourself."

He watched as she folded her lips together in disapproval. He turned to his father and waited for his opinion. "Dad?"

"No son of mine will be a fag. I can't believe that you would do this to your mother. I thought you had outdone yourself when you married Julie, but this is completely unacceptable." He turned to his wife. "I think we need to leave."

Wilson watched as his parents turned to leave. Maybe it had been too much, too fast, but his parents were walking away as his life was falling apart. The hell with them. "If you leave, you are not only walking away from me, but you're walking away from your granddaughter as well." He saw his mother pause. "I know you think he's a selfish bastard, but he's risking his life so that our child will have a chance to live." His father had paused. "I love him." His father seemed to flinch, and then he looked back at his wife, who had paused and was looking at her son in confusion.

"Jane, let's go," said her husband, but she only shook her head and stood firm.

Wilson and his mother watched as his father walked out the door. He turned to look down into the operating room, where another unit of blood was being hung.

"A grandchild? I don't understand. What are you talking about?" His mother's voice held a mixture of hope and confusion.

He gestured to the bench at the back of the observation deck, and they both sat down. "I know this is going to sound crazy, but it's the truth." He briefly explained about seeing Kayla and the night their daughter was conceived. "The fetus implanted in his abdomen, with the placenta attached to his internal organs."

"That makes it dangerous?"

Wilson nodded. "Just look at today. He fell, and the placenta pulled away from one of the places where it was attached. He was bleeding into his abdomen and the baby was showing some signs of distress. If it hadn't happened in a hospital, he could have bled out, and would probably have lost the baby." He turned to look down at where the doctors were operating. "They're trying to repair the damage and save the baby. I just thought that if something happens to her, you deserve to know." He swallowed, and then continued, "the odds are against her surviving to term. Even is she's OK after today, the risks just get bigger as she grows. The body is just not designed to carry a child outside of the uterus. There's a chance he could die as well."

"If it is so dangerous, why is he doing it?"

Wilson shrugged. "He said that you can't give back a miracle. Maybe that is the reason, but I think he just couldn't get rid of our child."

She reached over to take his hand. "Can you tell how it's going?"

"I don't know. They haven't taken the baby, which is a good sign." They were staring down at the operating room, not speaking, when Janet looked up and gave the thumbs up sign. He nodded before he sagged against the wall in relief. "I need to tell Dr. Cuddy." He stood up and found his boss waiting outside the door.

She looked up in concern. "Any word?"

"They're closing. Looks like it went all right."

"How did it go with your parents?"

"About how I expected it to. My father walked out. I don't think my mother is comfortable with the whole thing, but at least she stayed. Why don't you come on in and meet my mother."

They went in, and Dr. Cuddy made small talk with his mother. It was quite a while before Janet and Barry entered.

"Barry, Janet, I would like to introduce you to my mother, Jane Wilson. How are Greg and the baby?"

It was Janet who answered. "Both of them came through surgery really well. We were able to stop the bleeding. There were two major and three minor bleeds. We had to use another five units of blood during the surgery. The baby is doing fine, but we will be monitoring her very closely for the next few days."

Barry then took over. "I know we have been optimistic about his carrying the baby and continuing on as if everything is normal, but I think we need to be realistic here. He's just had abdominal surgery, and the baby is getting bigger and putting more strain on his body. I was hoping to put this off for a little while longer, but we have no choice but to put him on bedrest for the rest of the pregnancy."

Wilson nodded. "I know, but he's going to go crazy, having to lie there and think all day. He'll go nuts in less than a week!"

Cuddy spoke for the first time. "Leave it to me. I have an idea how to handle this."

Wilson smiled gratefully. He looked over at the two surgeons and his smile faded. "There's something you're not telling me."

Janet was serious. "While we were in there, we were able to visualize almost all of the abdominal cavity. The placenta has spread throughout his abdomen."

Barry interrupted, "The good news is that there should be an adequate blood supply for the fetus as it grows."

Janet continued, "The bad news is that when it comes time to take the baby, it is going to be tricky getting in and leaving the placenta intact. It's nothing we can't handle, but we just need to be prepared."

Wilson nodded. "Can I see him?"

"You can come with me to recovery, but everyone else will need to wait until he's in a room, and then, I'd like you to keep it short. I want him to rest."

They were about to walk away when Lisa remembered something. "House's parents made the earlier flight from Atlanta. The plane is landing in an hour. I've got a meeting I can't reschedule and House's patient just had a seizure, so his team is busy."

"I can do it," suggested Jane, "except that I don't have a car."

James smiled gratefully. "You can take mine," he said, pulling his keys out of his pocket. "Their names are John and Blythe House." His smile faded slightly. "All they know is that he was bleeding and had to have emergency surgery."

"You mean they don't know about the baby?" His mother looked shocked.

"They don't even know about us." He sighed. "They're going to have a lot to deal with on top of the fact that their son just had major surgery."

"I'll just let them know that he came through surgery all right. That's the most important thing."

He smiled down at her. "Thanks mom."

"I can show you where the doctor's parking lot is," Lisa offered, leading his mother off.

Wilson followed Barry down to the recovery room. He stood by as House was extubated and awareness returned. He watched as House's right hand moved to his belly and fear crept into his eyes. Aware of the other people in the room, Wilson leaned down to whisper, "she's OK. Both of you are going to be fine." He watched as House smiled weakly and closed his eyes.

TBC


	13. Meet the Houses

Author's Note: This part of the story was originally written long before the revelations in Season 3 of just how bad House's relationship with his father was, and the reasons behind it. So, therefore the relationship portrayed here is far from cannon.

Chapter 13: Meet the Houses

When House was finally ready to be moved to a private room, James stayed by his side. After they arrived, he helped Greg onto his left side, with a pillow propping up his right leg. He and Barry debated on the best location for the fetal heart monitor, before they stashed it underneath the bed, where it wasn't immediately obvious to anyone who entered the room. Automatically he checked the various monitors, and then sat in the chair next to the bed as Greg dozed.

He sat there for quite a while, until he checked his watch and realized that he couldn't put it off any longer. "Greg? I need to tell you something." He waited until House's eyelids fluttered open. "Your parents will be here soon. My mom is picking them up at the airport."

House sighed. "Do they know?"

"My parents do. Yours don't. Don't worry, I'll handle it. Try and get some sleep. I'll wake you when they get here." He watched as House wearily closed his eyes. James was still sitting there when John and Blythe arrived. He abandoned his chair and moved to the doorway with his mother so that House's parents could approach the bed. He watched as Blythe reached down to touch her son's cheek.

House opened his eyes. "Hi mom." He looked over at his father. "Dad."

"How are you?" she asked gently.

"Been better," he replied.

"What happened?"

"A kid bumped into the cane, and I fell."

"And that's why you were bleeding so badly that you had to have surgery? I don't understand."

"Don't worry, they stopped the bleeding. We're both going to be fine."

It was his father who caught the incongruity. "'We'? Who are you talking about?"

Wilson stepped in. "I think it would be best if we go up to my office and talk."

"You know something about our son, don't you? What aren't you telling us?"

"Go with Wilson, OK?" House pleaded. His parents finally capitulated, and turned to follow Wilson. Jane smiled encouragingly at her son, and sat down in the chair next to the door. On the way to his office, Wilson tried to formulate what he would say to Greg's parents. At least when it had been his own parents, he knew how they would react, and when he had told them about the baby, he had been fueled by anger and frustration. This is completely different. He'd met Greg's parents a few times over the years, but he really didn't know them all that well, and Greg rarely talked about them.

When they got to his office, Blythe and John automatically sat in the chairs placed across from his desk. He sat in his accustomed spot and opened his mouth, but no words came out. He sighed, and then just decided to dive in. "I know this is going to come as a complete surprise to you, but your son and I are dating." He cringed, 'dating' sounded so high-school. "We've been living together for a little over four months."

"Do you think I give a shit who my son is sleeping with!" John was yelling. "As long as it makes him happy. Now, could you please tell me what's wrong with my son!"

Wilson watched as Blythe reached over and laid a hand on her husband's knee. "A few weeks after I moved in, Greg got sick. I thought it was the flu, but weeks later it hadn't gone away. He lost nine pounds in less than two months. He finally let me run some tests, and his beta-hCG came back almost four orders of magnitude higher than normal. Beta-hCG is kind of a strange marker, because in women, it is an indicator of pregnancy, and in men, is indicative of testicular cancer." He saw Blythe go pale, and he quickly continued, "it wasn't cancer. In some ways, cancer would have been easier. Predictable – choose the best treatment option and move forward. Instead, we were in totally unknown territory."

He looked up and realized he was completely screwing up on telling them what was wrong with their son. They were completely terrified. "He's pregnant."

Their faces were blank. His words were nonsensical. He could have declared that grass was purple, and it would have made as much sense. He rummaged through his desk and pulled out the file. "I was doing an ultrasound of his abdomen, and this is what I saw." He pulled out a picture from one of the first ultrasounds. "It's an eleven week fetus. We couldn't believe what we were seeing, and we did a number of tests before we were convinced that it really was a fetus. Here's the ultrasound from last week." He watched as they stared at the ultrasound, which looked a lot more like a baby than the first one. "It's a girl," he offered.

"But that's impossible," Blythe's voice was distressed.

"Believe me, we had a hard time accepting it ourselves."

"Why didn't he tell us," she asked.

"I'm sorry about that. We planned on telling you at Christmas. I guess we thought it was best to tell you in person. Also, for so long, it hardly seemed real. Except for the ultrasounds, it was easy to pretend that it was just a little weight gain. It was easy to forget about how risky the pregnancy is."

"How bad is it?" Blythe asked.

Wilson paused, trying to figure how much to tell them. They deserved to know the truth. His voice was somber. "The chance that the baby will survive until delivery is probably less than one percent, and there is a chance that Greg could die as well." He reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose. "Up until today, everything was going surprisingly well. The fetus looked great, and Greg wasn't having too many problems with the pregnancy. We'd hoped that he could make it to the end of the year before he had to start taking it easy. Today was the result of a freak accident. A kid bumped him at just the wrong time and he fell hard. The placenta pulled away in several places from where it was attached, and he was bleeding into his abdomen. If it hadn't happened in a hospital, the baby probably wouldn't have survived, and Greg could have bled out. As it was, it is pretty lucky that they could repair the damage and salvage the pregnancy." He looked down at the ultrasound pictures spread across his desk. "When I called you, I thought for sure that they would have to take the baby. At twenty-one weeks, there is almost no chance that she could survive."

"So Greg and the baby are all right?" she asked.

"They're both doing fine," he answered.

"So what's going to happen for the rest of the pregnancy?"

"After today, he will be on bed-rest. House doesn't know about it yet, and I know that won't go over very well. We hope that he can make it until thirty-four weeks, when the baby will be delivered surgically."

John spoke for the first time. "Thirty-four weeks. That's too early, isn't it?"

"It's six weeks premature. Thirty-four weeks is the standard in cases like this because at that point, most of the complications of a premature birth are minimized. The main thing is that at that point, the baby's lungs are fully developed. It's not ideal, but it's too risky to continue the pregnancy past that point."

Wilson stopped speaking, and waited for them to ask any questions.

"What about the pills?" The question came, naturally, from House's father.

"He's switched to a different set of medications, which will be better for the baby. Believe me, the period when he was switching over to the new meds wasn't fun for anyone." Wilson grimaced. "The new meds aren't as effective at controlling his pain as the Vicodin. As a result, he uses the cane pretty much from the moment he steps out of bed. Some days, the pain is pretty bad."

Blythe inhaled, and then found the courage to ask the question that always lingered in her mind. "Is he happy?" she asked quietly.

Wilson smiled. "Yeah, in his own way. He really wants this. Last week, he felt the baby move for the first time. For the rest of the day, neither of us could quit smiling. I think that some of the staff were a little disturbed. A few days later, we found out that we were having a girl. It was one of the best weeks of my entire life, and I would say that he probably feels the same way." He smiled in remembrance, and then his smile faded as he considered the events of today. "Why don't we go back down and you can see Greg again."

When they entered the room, they heard House answer, "I can handle it." Wilson could hear the tension in his voice.

Barry was standing next to the bed, and he didn't look happy. "That wasn't what I asked. How bad is the pain?" He leaned down so that he could look directly into House's eyes. "Remember our deal?"

House was first to look away. "It's pretty bad," he finally admitted. When he saw Barry moving toward the IV pump, he started to protest.

Barry cut him off immediately. "No, House. Richard and I know what we're doing, and this is best for the baby. What's best right now is for you to relax and get some rest. Your pulse is higher than I'd like and your BP is too high."

"But she's OK, right?" House asked, worry in his eyes.

Barry checked the fetal heart monitor again. "Heart rate's a little high, but still within the normal range." He sat down in the chair next to the bed. "You remember the other half of the deal?"

House's voice was resigned. "Bedrest."

Barry nodded. "Once you get out of here, you are confined to bed, the couch, and the shortest path between the two. Oh, and bathroom privileges. That's it. For now, I want you horizontal as much as possible. For at least the next week, I don't want you home alone."

It was a sign of just how frightening the past few hours had been, that House didn't argue as his life altered dramatically.

"I want to do another ultrasound, just to make sure that everything is OK." Barry looked up, noticing the extra people in the room for the first time. "We have company."

"My parents," House explained. Wilson performed the introductions. At Barry's inquiring look, House answered, "they can stay. They should probably see this anyway."

Wilson helped House shift onto his back, arranging the blankets and opening up the hospital gown to expose House's belly. From behind him, he heard Blythe's gasp of surprise, as the first real sign of her son's pregnancy was revealed. He stood back and watched as Barry stepped in to perform the ultrasound, deftly avoiding the fetal heart monitor that was wrapped around House's belly, as well as the bandages covering the recent incision sites. As he moved the wand, Barry was narrating for the sake of the parents. When he finished he looked up. "Everything looks good. Baby looks fine and there's no sign of any bleeding." He stood up. "I need to go talk with House's fellows. I want to set up a schedule so that House and the baby will be monitored hourly for the next 24 hours. I'd rather keep access to him limited to those that already know about the baby. Luckily, with his reputation, the nurses will be more than willing to relinquish his care over to his team." He looked over at the people gathered around the bed. "I'll give you another few minutes, and then I want all of you out of here. Wilson, you're allowed to stay as long as he gets some sleep."

They watched as he exited the room, and Blythe was the first to break the silence. "So, there really is a baby," she said wondrously. "I guess some part of me just kept waiting for someone to say it was all a big joke."

Wilson smiled. "I remember having the same feeling, in the beginning." He helped House back onto his side.

The reverie was interrupted by John's voice. "Why in hell are you risking your life like this?"

Wilson winced, hearing the love and concern in John's voice, but knowing that House would only hear the accusation.

"Because I enjoy being miserable and self destructive." House's voice was bitter.

John was going to reply when he was stopped by a pointed look from his wife.

"We should probably let him rest," Wilson suggested. He leaned over to kiss Greg on the lips, intentionally not looking over to where his mother was standing. "I'll be back later tonight."

He stood back as Greg's parents and his own mother took their leave. When they were in the hallway, Wilson looked over at his mother, not sure what to do.

"I'm staying," she replied, to his unspoken question, "for as long as I need to be here." Her face hardened. "Your father can manage for a few days without me."

"You can sleep at my apartment; I'll stay at the hospital tonight, and I wouldn't recommend the couch at House's place."

The drive back to House's apartment was silent. He carried Blythe and John's suitcase into the apartment and put it in the bedroom. As he was changing the sheets on the bed, he realized that none of them had eaten since lunchtime. When he walked out to the living room, he saw all three of the parents chatting amicably. He went to the kitchen and pulled out the leftovers from last night's dinner. If he chopped up the chicken breasts, he could probably stretch the meal to feed four, especially if he made a large salad and added some vegetables. He was tearing lettuce and chopping vegetables when his mother joined him. When dinner was ready, he took two of the plates out into the living room, while Blythe joined his mother in the kitchen.

Before he and his mother left, Wilson found the keys to House's car. He also wrote out the directions to his apartment, so that John and Blythe could pick up his mother in the morning before they all returned to the hospital. He also grabbed a change of clothing, and after a moment of consideration, grabbed a t-shirt and a pair of sweats for his mother, who was stranded without a change of clothing.

When they got to his apartment, the first thing he did was turn up the thermostat. It had been weeks since he had been back and it was ice cold in there. As he went into the bedroom to change the sheets and make out the bed for his mother, Jane walked around the apartment, mentally comparing it to the one she had just left.

Unlike House's apartment, the walls were painted a stark white. In the living room, there was only a battered couch that looked like it had been rescued from a dumpster. Stacked along one wall was a pile of boxes that had never been unpacked. The entire place had the air of abandonment.

She thought back to the apartment she had been in earlier that evening. The furniture had been comfortable, but there was a certain elegance to it that seemed unexpected for Greg House, who had always appeared fairly unkempt every time she had seen him. The biggest surprise had been the antique baby grand piano that occupied most of the living room. She wasn't intentionally trying to pry into her son's life, but it was clear that two people lived in House's apartment. The telltale signs had been hard to miss—the two toothbrushes in the holder in the bathroom, the McGill coffee mug sitting on the counter. Mainly it had been the ease at which James had moved in the kitchen, preparing a meal, clearly familiar with his surroundings. And then there had been the clothing he had packed into a duffel bag pulled from the closet.

As she wandered around her son's apartment, it was clear that he wasn't living here. She walked into the bedroom, where James was just finishing making up the bed. Like the rest of the apartment, there was very little furniture in the bedroom, most of which she recognized from the spare bedroom when he had been married to Julie. She sat down on the edge of the bed, the only place to sit in this room. "When you first told us that you were involved with House, you said that you had been living together," she asked hesitantly.

Wilson ran a hand through his hair, not meeting his mother's eyes. "Yeah."

"I don't understand why you still keep this apartment if you are living together."

"It's complicated." He slumped down next to her on the bed. "When I moved in, it was a struggle just to clear out an entire closet for my stuff. Mostly getting rid of a bunch of sports equipment that he'll never use again." He sighed. "Also, when we decided to live together, it wasn't immediately obvious that it would work out. When I camped out on his couch after my marriage to Julie fell apart, we nearly killed each other. He put my hand in warm water one night and I sawed his cane in half. It wasn't pretty." He stared off into space, lost in his memories.

"But clearly, it's worked out. Why haven't you gotten a bigger place?"

His voice was sad. "What do we get? A two-bedroom place would be fine for just the two of us. A little bit more wall space for bookshelves, more closet space. Have the second bedroom as an office, maybe with a couch with a foldout bed for guests. We talked about it a little bit, but at the time, he wasn't feeling well, and we never got around to it. Then we found out he was pregnant. With a baby, we'd need at least another bedroom. But when…" He cringed and started again. "But if he loses the baby, it would be another reminder of what we'd lost." He looked down at the floor. "It's just one more thing that we don't talk about."

She turned to embrace him, and he leaned into her shoulder, feeling the same comfort he had felt as a child. He let out his breath in a shuddering sigh. "I'm just so scared."

She reached up to pet his hair. "It's OK to be scared. You just have to try and believe that everything is going to be all right." When she felt his tears soaking through her blouse, she turned and wiped away his tears with her thumbs. "None of that, now. You don't want him to see you with red eyes. You have to be strong for him, so that he believes that it is going to be OK."

He nodded and tried to compose himself. "I need to get back to the hospital. Is there anything that you need?" He reached over to the duffel bag and brought out the clothes he had selected for her. "I have an extra toothbrush in the bathroom you can use."

"I'm fine. Go." She pushed him towards the door. "Call me if you need anything. I'll see you tomorrow."

TBC


	14. House’s Team

Chapter 14: House's Team

Earlier that evening, House's fellows were gathered in the conference room, waiting for the results of their latest round of tests on their patient, as well as word of how their boss was doing in surgery.

Cameron was the first one to break the silence. "I can't believe that House and Wilson are a couple."

Foreman could only look at her in shock. "You just found out that your boss, your _male_ boss, is pregnant, and the most surprising thing is that House and Wilson are dating?"

Cameron blushed and looked over at her colleagues. "That's not it, I mean," she took a deep breath. "I just can't believe we never saw it."

Chase snorted. "Same reason why we never had any idea he was pregnant. House only lets us see only what we wants us to see."

"There's no way he's pregnant." This was from Foreman.

"You saw the same ultrasound I did," shot back Chase. "It sure looked like a baby to me. Fetal heart monitor showed a heartbeat."

"It has to be some huge joke he's cooked up. There's no way it's real," Foreman exclaimed.

"Sure looked real enough, and the internal bleeding was genuine. You can't fake that," Chase answered.

"He certainly looked like he could be carrying a baby," Cameron chimed in for the first time.

"It's gotta be a tumor! That would explain why he started bleeding when he fell!" Foreman snapped back.

"But that doesn't explain the ultrasound or the fetal heart monitor," Chase replied. "Besides, if it was a tumor, why would Wilson have Cuddy page Janet Larsen, an OB/GYN? And Barry, the doctor that was on his way in, was probably Barry Coleman, another obstetrician who specializes in high risk pregnancies."

"So how do you think it happened?" Cameron asked.

"Maybe it was aliens," suggested Chase. At Foreman's derisive snort, he defended his statement. "Come on, it's not any more absurd than the fact that he's _pregnant_!"

"Maybe someone cursed him." This was from Foreman.

"Regardless of how he got pregnant, the important question is why is he still pregnant? Why didn't he terminate the pregnancy?" asked Chase.

"Maybe that's part of the curse. Maybe he can't end it."

The two men were convulsing with laughter when Cameron interrupted. "I think he wants the baby."

The other two occupants in the room looked at her in shock before bursting into laughter again.

When he finally recovered, Foreman exclaimed, "are you kidding? This is House we're talking about. No way!"

"No, I'm serious," she said defensively. "I think he really wants this." She thought back to the earlier events of the day. "When he fell, he kept repeating, 'please don't let her die'. I had no idea what he was talking about. And when he was talking to Dr. Larsen, he was terrified that they'd have to take the baby at only 21 weeks."

"Yeah, I guess," replied Chase, "but still, House with a kid? Can you imagine?"

Allison had to admit that she couldn't. Their conversation was interrupted when the door to the conference room opened and Lisa Cuddy entered. Cameron was the first to ask, "how is he?"

"He's doing fine. The surgery went well, and they were able to stop the bleeding and salvage the pregnancy. The baby appears to be doing fine." She slumped down into one of the vacant chairs. "It seems so weird to say that."

"It really is a baby, then?" Foreman asked.

"Well, two obstetricians, my head of oncology and one of the best diagnosticians in the country think so. Who am I to disagree?"

Foreman nodded. "What happens next?"

"Barry wants to keep him here for observation for the next 24-36 hours. He wants House to be here if he starts bleeding again or the baby goes into distress. After that, he'll be discharged and will be at home on bedrest for the rest of the pregnancy. Hopefully he can make it to thirty-four weeks."

Foreman did a quick mental calculation. "Thirteen weeks in bed. He'll go nuts by the end of the first week."

Cuddy nodded and then explained her plan for keeping House occupied. By the end, they were all smiling and agreeing with her plan.

She became serious once again. "I want to make sure that you all realize how serious his condition really is. Essentially it's an abdominal ectopic pregnancy, and we all know the prognosis for that is pretty grim. I don't want any of you to make a fuss about the pregnancy, because chances are that it will end badly. No presents, no baby shower. I wouldn't even talk about the baby unless he brings it up himself." She was looking at all three of them, but they all knew her words were really intended for Cameron, the emotional one of the group. When they all agreed, she looked at her watch and sighed, "I have to get to a meeting."

When she was almost to the door, she turned around. "Oh, I almost forgot. If anyone asks what happened to Dr. House today, you can tell them that the surgeons found a large tumor in his abdomen, and preliminary tests show that it is malignant. For the next few months, Dr. House will be working from home while recovering from surgery and receiving treatment." At their surprised looks she explained, "I'm sure people are already speculating. I know how the rumor mill works in a closed environment. I'd rather put out something plausible rather than have people go searching and stumble on the real reason."

She walked out of the conference room and took the elevator up to the sixth floor. As soon as she walked into the room, she could see that House was awake and was looking troubled. She straightened her shoulders; this would have to be handled carefully.

She marched briskly into the room. "Well, you've really done it this time, haven't you?" She was pleased to see the spark of life enter his eyes. "There's no way I'm going to have an entire department sitting around on its ass for the next few months, just because you went and got knocked up! So here's what's going to happen. On Monday, the phone company will be at your apartment, where they will install a DSL line and a second phone line. Meanwhile, the diagnostics conference room will be equipped for video conferencing. You need to have someone get your laptop to IT so that they can install a webcam and whatever software will be necessary. On Tuesday, IT will be out at your place making sure that everything is working properly. They will also set up a fax machine. Technically, Foreman will be in charge of your department while you are gone, but I will make it clear that you are running the cases, and they are to consult you, same as if you were still in the building. It's not as if you really see your patients anyway."

"So, do you want me to phone in my clinic hours as well?"

"No, for some reason, people actually come to the clinic to see a doctor. However, I'll make you a deal. Your department averages less than one patient a week. Starting a week from today, if the average doubles during the time you're working from home, I won't add the clinic hours you'll miss onto the end of the hours you still owe me. So, do we have a deal?"

"Do I have a choice?" he snarled.

"Not really. Oh, and by the way, the cost for all of the equipment is coming out of your department's budget. You'll have to cut back on the department's Christmas party or something."

He couldn't maintain the façade any more, and his lips quirked into a smile. "I'm sure Cameron will be crushed."

She smiled back. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine." The smile dimmed slightly. "Barry upped the meds, so I'm not feeling much of anything."

She nodded, understanding. She checked the monitors one last time. "Now get some sleep. Your patient is stable and your fellows are under orders not to discuss him with you until tomorrow morning."

He nodded, and she watched as his eyelids slid shut, and he finally relaxed into sleep.

TBC


	15. In the Still of the Night

Chapter 15: In the Still of the Night

When Wilson returned to the hospital a few hours later, he found House fast asleep. He looked down at the man he loved. House's right hand was spread protectively over his belly, and his left arm was flung across the bed, palm open to the ceiling. For a long time, James stood in the doorway, just watching. Finally, he moved to check the monitors before settling in the chair next to the bed. He opened his briefcase and the pile of charts he needed to review. He was still working when the door opened and Dr. Cameron crept into the room. He watched as she checked the monitors and made a notation in the chart. He wondered what he should say to her. He knew how she felt about House, and could only guess at how she must be feeling. He knew how devastating it was to find that a dream was impossible, but maybe now she could set her sights on someone other than her boss.

He smiled at her. "You don't need to monitor him. I'll be here all night," he suggested, whispering.

She returned his smile, and he was happy to see the kindness in her eyes. "Dr. Wilson, tonight you've been demoted to 'family', even though you are a doctor," she whispered back. "Besides, someone needs to check on our patient periodically, anyway, so it's no trouble. I was going to be here anyway, and Chase will be taking over at 2 AM." She smiled at him as she exited the room, and he began to hope that maybe her heart really hadn't been broken.

As the night progressed, there was very little change. House was sleeping soundly, and as the night wore on, the pile of charts at Wilson's side grew. Every hour, Cameron would silently enter and check the monitors before withdrawing with an encouraging smile for Wilson. Midway through the night, Chase took over the hourly charting duty. Hours later, Wilson finally had to admit defeat. He had read the same paragraph for the fourth time, with no idea what he had just read, and he'd jerked awake as his head had fallen forward for the fifth time. He put away the paperwork and leaned forward so that he could rest his head on the mattress.

He closed his eyes and the next thing he knew, a hand was gently stroking his hair. He sat up, his back muscles protesting the movement. He looked over and saw of pair of bright blue eyes regarding him thoughtfully. "How are you feeling?" Wilson asked.

House smiled ruefully. "They've got me on some pretty good drugs. Have you been here all night?"

Wilson stood up to stretch his lower back. "Yeah. After I got your parents settled at our place and my mom at my apartment." He leaned down to kiss the older man. "I forgot to say good morning." He smiled.

House returned the kiss, but was distracted by what Wilson had just said. "Where's your father?"

Wilson's smile diminished slightly. "Back home, I guess. He didn't handle the whole gay thing very well. He was already walking out when I told him about the baby. I don't think it even registered." He sighed and flopped down in his abandoned chair. "Disappointing, but entirely predictable."

"I'm sorry." There was sympathy in House's eyes. "How about your mother?"

"Completely shocked, but I think that eventually she'll be OK with it," he replied, remembering the conversation in the bedroom. He looked up and then answered the question in House's eyes, "I think they're OK with it. Being told your son has a life-threatening condition tends to put things into perspective."

House nodded and then changed the subject. "What time is it?"

Wilson looked at his watch. "Seven fifteen. I guess Chase is a little late."

"He was here a few minutes ago. You didn't even twitch. He said that everything is all right." It was a statement, but Wilson heard the question lurking in there.

He quickly checked the monitors. "Everything looks fine. How are you doing? Need anything?"

"Water," House replied.

Wilson found the plastic cup with the straw. "Are you hungry?"

"Not really," but at Wilson's disapproving look, he added, "but I'll eat when the tray comes." He was rewarded with Wilson's smile. "Why don't you go catch a shower and get some food. I'll have them page you if Barry stops by."

Wilson was almost at the door when he remembered something. "By the way, the parents will probably be showing up sometime this morning." He heard House groan as he pushed open the door.

When he returned to the sixth floor, he was feeling much better, having eaten a bagel from the cafeteria and showered and changed in the doctor's locker room. He was walking down the hallway when he heard Barry calling his name. They chatted as they made their way down towards House's room. After checking the chart and doing a brief examination, he sat down with a pleased expression on his face. "Everything looks really good. This morning, I'd like to ease you off of the IV meds and back onto your usual pain regimen, just at a slightly higher dosage for the next few days. Also, I'd like to get you up and walking. If you can make it across the room and back with no problems with the baby, then I think we can send you home this evening as long as someone is there at all times."

The morning passed quickly. Shortly after Barry left, an orderly came in with the breakfast tray. House made a valiant effort and managed to eat most of the food. He then nodded off for a few hours, Wilson again in the bedside chair. When he awoke, he immediately noticed the increase of pain in his leg and the pull of the incision sites. So much for the temporary reprieve from the nagging pain.

His sigh alerted Wilson to his return to consciousness, and he immediately asked, "are you OK? How bad is it?"

"It's fine." Nothing he hadn't felt before. As if on cue, a nurse entered with a paper cup containing a single white pill, which he swallowed gratefully. He breathed a sigh of relief when she removed the catheter. One step closer to freedom. A few minutes later she was followed by the arrival of Barry and Foreman. Wilson caught the scowl, but wasn't sure if it was directed at the walker Foreman carried, or the fact that he would be on hand to witness House's maiden journey.

"Sorry House, I'm taking away your cane until I can be sure you won't fall on your ass again."

"Hey! You can't blame me for that, I was attacked!" House protested.

"Either way, it's the walker or staying here for another few days."

"Fine," he grumbled.

The next few minutes were spent organizing the IV line, and the leads to the fetal heart monitor. After only a few shuffling steps, he had to admit to himself that there was no way he could have done this with only his cane. Somehow, he managed to make it across the room, but as he turned around, the distance back to the bed seemed to have quadrupled since the outgoing journey. He was less than halfway across the room when the door opened and his parents and Jane Wilson entered. He grimaced, knowing the picture he presented; skimpy hospital gown that didn't even completely cover his thighs; pale, skinny legs exposed to the world. Shuffling along in paper slippers, hunched over a walker like an eighty year old man, with Foreman and Wilson following closely behind in case he toppled over. Pathetic.

God, he was tired, but he knew that if he stopped, he would never make it back to the bed under his own power. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see his father, and he tightened his grip on the walker and continued his uneven progress across the room. By the time he was back in bed, he was shaking with exhaustion, and he was certain that everyone in the room could see it.

He looked over at his mother, who was beaming with pride as if he had just run a damn marathon. He sighed and leaned back into the pillows. Barry performed a quick check of his vitals, and then another ultrasound to verify that there was no internal bleeding. "As soon as we get you fully off of the IV meds, I see no reason why you can't go home this evening. I'm sending you home with a fetal heart monitor and some other stuff, and I'm sure you'll feel better in your own bed."

When Barry was finished, there was a consultation with Wilson and the parents on the opposite side of the room. He watched as Wilson nodded and then moved to embrace Jane, before she walked across the room and sat down in the chair next to the bed. His eyebrows rose in surprise as she moved to take his hand.

"Now that you're 'out of the woods', so to speak, I think that I need to head home. Your mother is going to drive me." She smiled at him. "I'm glad that you make my son happy, and I think that eventually my husband will see that, too." She leaned over to press a kiss on his forehead before she moved to whisper in his ear, "take good care of my grandchild," before she straightened. She smiled encouragingly at him before turning toward the door.

His mother, seeing the exhaustion pulling at her son's eyelids, quickly took her leave. House sent Wilson away with an order to "go save some of the bald kiddies." Then he was left alone with his father. With a pained grunt, he rolled onto his side, before he grudgingly asked his father to find the pillow that had somehow ended up on the floor. As he positioned it under his leg, his father could only look on helplessly, unsure of what he could do to help his son.

"Do you need anything?" he finally asked.

"No. I just want to go to sleep for a while." At this, his eyelids finally closed, not even watching as his father slid into the chair beside the bed to keep watch over his only son.

The lunch tray arrived, but he decided to let Greg sleep. At 1 PM, a nurse arrived with Greg's pills, and after he swallowed them, he scowled at the now cold food on the rollaway table. He had managed to eat less than half of the food when his three fellows trooped in. He ignored the large rectangular package Chase was carrying and the smaller one in Cameron's hands, and barked, "so, how's our patient?"

"You were right," Cameron replied. "Tests proved it was pheochromocytoma, and we've started treatment."

"No side affects?"

"So far, nothing. We're still monitoring him closely, but he should be home before Christmas," Foreman explained.

Chase stepped forward with the package he was holding. "We thought you could use this."

House sighed and then reluctantly began unwrapping the gift. The larger package proved to be a medium sized whiteboard, and the smaller one a box of markers.

"We were afraid you'd start writing on the walls of your apartment," Chase explained.

The corner of House's mouth turned up in a wry imitation of a smile as he silently acknowledged the truth of the statement. He grunted his thanks and then awkwardly turned over onto his other side and closed his eyes, effectively ending the conversation. His fellows looked at each other in confusion before they turned and exited the room. Obviously, being pregnant and going through a near-death experience hadn't mellowed their boss one bit.

The afternoon brought another lap across the room with the walker, and another ultrasound before Barry was willing to discharge him. He changed into the sweats that Wilson had brought for him, and then he climbed into the wheelchair with only a token protest.

As Wilson pushed the chair down the hallway, House kept his eyes on the floor. Even though watching the linoleum slipping by was making him feel slightly nauseous, it was still better than looking up and seeing the pity in the staff's eyes. Even though most would universally agree that Dr. House was a bastard, no one would have wished for him to get cancer, and to see him hunched in the wheelchair, his normal fire diminished, was too hard, even for his most outspoken critics.

After he had climbed into the car, he tried to ignore the fact that the wheelchair had been added to the stash of medical equipment in the trunk. The trip home was quiet, and he leaned back into the leather seat of the Volvo, closing his eyes and shutting out the world around him. He stayed that way, even after the car stopped, listening to the sounds of the trunk being unloaded and people moving back and forth.

Then the door was being opened, and Wilson and his father were there to help him out of the car and up the steps into his apartment. As he crossed the threshold, he acknowledged that he was entering his prison for the next few months, with only the occasional furlough to the hospital if he was lucky.

Even with the relatively short distance he had walked, his legs were again feeling like cooked noodles, and he sank gratefully into the waiting wheelchair for the rest of the trip into the bedroom.

It seemed like he had just closed his eyes for a nap when Wilson was calling his name. He opened one eye before grumping, "go away!"

"Sorry, House. It's dinner time, and you have to eat for two. At least your mother's cooking is better than hospital food. Do you want to eat here, or out on the couch?"

He chose the couch, and was grateful that Wilson brought over the walker instead of the hated wheelchair. During dinner, he watched his parents with amusement as they balanced plates on their laps, trying to pretend that the arrangement was perfectly normal, when his mother had always insisted that a proper meal had to be eaten at a table. Wilson, on the other hand, was an old pro at this style of eating, consuming many a late night dinner on the couch in House's living room.

After dinner, they all watched a little television, until Blythe and John left for Wilson's apartment, where they were staying now that their son was home from the hospital. It wasn't even 10 PM when Greg and James were both fast asleep in their usual sleeping positions, Greg's head nestled at the juncture of James's shoulder, one arm thrown across the younger man's chest.

TBC


	16. Holiday Plans

_Author's note: I am totally blown away by the fact that this story now has 100 reviews. Honestly, I never thought a story of mine would make it to triple digits. A big shout out to JulieandJulia for being the 100th review. In the spirit of the Academy Awards (BTW, Hugh Laurie was robbed. Again.), I would like to thank everyone that has contributed to this milestone: BertieTiger, Blackbirdox, cathepsut, elizajay, hilson, House Fan, i luv ewansmile, JulieandJulia, Lady Makbeth, LoriB, Lylaa, maybe not today, micetea, PerLuminisPropinquus, Rhastahippy, Shota-Hunter, slashfan54, Story Fan, TombeDeLaLune. I want all of you to know that I really appreciate your taking the time to review this story._

Chapter 16: Holiday Plans

Aside from a 2 AM break for pain meds and James helping Greg make a trip to the bathroom, both men slept soundly throughout the night. The next morning, Greg was enjoying one of the rare times when he was awake before James, and he luxuriated in the feel of the other man's body against his. There was a light knock on the bedroom door, and as he opened his eyes, he saw his mother hesitantly open the door and poke her head inside. Her eyes widened slightly as she saw their bodies entwined on the bed, and then she smiled hesitantly. He raised a finger to his lips, and then carefully began to slide away from Wilson's sleeping form. By the time he was at the edge of the bed, she was there to ease his legs down onto the ground as he sat up, a feat nearly impossible on his own due to a lack of thigh muscle on his right leg and abdominal muscles rendered nearly useless by a couple of incisions carved into them.

After a detour to the bathroom, he managed to make it out to the couch in about half the time it had taken yesterday. She helped him get settled on the cushions, and then brought him a plate piled high with food.

"Trying to fatten me up?" he inquired.

"You're too thin," she explained.

"Except for the potbelly," House grumbled.

She smiled at the slight sign of vanity in her son. The infarction had robbed her son of so many things, including pride in his appearance. While he'd never been a clotheshorse like James Wilson, he'd always dressed with a certain flair and had taken some care with his appearance. She knew that some of the details had been abandoned because the basic mechanics of living had become harder, but she also knew that he'd given up on his appearance because in his mind, people only really saw the cane.

She looked down at where her son's fingers were absently tracing his belly. "You know you aren't fat. You're pregnant! You know, when I was pregnant with you, your father used to say I was sexier than ever." She had to laugh at the utterly appalled expression on her son's face.

Greg was saved from replying when Wilson wandered into the room looking adorably rumpled, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. "House? Why didn't you wake me? You shouldn't be walking around by yourself." He finally noticed the third occupant of the room. "Oh, hello Blythe. Good morning."

She stepped around the couch to pull him into a hug. "Good morning, James. Now have a seat and I'll dish you up a plate." She waved off his offer of help, and shortly reappeared with another plate, piled almost as high as the one she had given her son.

They were all eating in companionable silence when Greg finally inquired, "where's dad?"

"He's running a few errands for me. He'll be back in a few hours."

After breakfast, House and Wilson channel hopped until they found a movie worth watching, while Blythe cleaned up in the kitchen. At lunchtime, she made them all sandwiches, before her son limped back into the bedroom for an afternoon nap.

When he reappeared that evening, he could only stare in shock at the changes in his living room. "What the hell is a tree doing in my house?"

"It's a week until Christmas. I know that you two have been busy, but there's no reason why I can't help you decorate," his mother explained.

House could only stare at his mother in shock as he gripped the handles of the walker a little tighter. "We don't celebrate Christmas." At her confused expression, he felt that he needed to offer an explanation. "For one thing, Wilson's Jewish."

Her smile faltered and she was instantly contrite. "Oh, James, I'm sorry. I didn't realize."

At her crestfallen expression, Wilson immediately jumped in to reassure her. "Don't worry, Blythe, we can have a tree. I don't mind. I always wished we could have a tree when I was growing up." He immediately looked guilty. "Just don't tell my mother! She'd probably have a heart attack if she knew."

"Traitor," House grumbled softly so that only Wilson could hear.

Blythe smiled at James before turning to her son. "I've been searching around, but I haven't been able to find your ornaments."

"My ornaments? There aren't any," he mumbled.

She frowned. "But you did have some when Stacy was…" her voice trailed off and she immediately looked contrite. "I never realized she took them when she left." Her face brightened as she made plans for finding new ornaments.

House looked pointedly at Wilson, until the younger man nodded, silently agreeing that it was best that Blythe not know the true fate of the ornaments, smashed on the floor in a drunken rage a few months after Stacy had left. Wilson had been there the next morning to clean up the shards of glass and broken metal.

House looked back up at his mother. A tree with a bunch of damn ornaments was a small price to pay for the smile on his mother's face. House looked over at the offending tree. "It's crooked."

* * *

The following week, Wilson went back to work, and House was alone with his parents until Wilson came home around 6 PM. In the mornings, he'd lie on the couch and watch cartoons until lunchtime. In the afternoons, his mother would go shopping for ornaments for the tree, and House would hide in the bedroom, supposedly taking a nap. And sometimes, it wasn't even a lie. When James came home, they'd eat the dinner Blythe had prepared, and then John and Wilson would hang the ornaments on the tree, under the strict observation of Blythe and Greg.

On Wednesday, Wilson shyly displayed his contribution to the Christmas tree.

"Candy _canes_! Have you lost your mind?" House snarled.

Wilson smirked at his lover, an expression he had stolen from House. How dared he? House tried to keep up the bluster, but it really was impossible seeing how Barry had been by and had given House back his cane and had declared that House could work form home starting the day after Christmas. Already the fax machine and the telecommunications gear were installed and ready to be used.

House scowled as Wilson proudly hung all twenty-four candy canes on the tree. Wilson was admiring his handiwork when Blythe dropped her bombshell. "James, I've been talking with you mother, and we thought it would be nice if we could all have dinner on the twenty-fourth. If we ate around 3 PM, there'd still be plenty of time for us to catch our plane to John's sister's. Your brother and his wife have already said that they can make it.

Wilson looked over at House, who was looking decidedly shell-shocked. "I don't know. I think it might be too much for Greg."

"Not if he rests in the morning, and if he's too tired, he can go back to bed after dinner." She continued, guessing where Wilson's weak spot was, "we've been planning the menu and your mother is planning on making latkes."

Wilson looked helplessly over at House, who finally shrugged and gave in. It seemed that both men were incapable of denying their mothers when they had their hearts set on something.

TBC


	17. Christmukka

Chapter 17: Christmukka

_Author's Note: In 2005, the dates for Hanukkah were Dec 25-Jan 1. Christmas, was, of course, Dec 25. Also, I'm not Jewish, so forgive me if I get something wrong._

It was 1 PM on December 24th, and Wilson was alone in the living room after being banned from the kitchen by both mothers. John was at the market, picking up some last minute ingredients that had been forgotten. Greg was taking a nap in the bedroom, having been up most of the night due to spasms in his leg. At 2 AM, he'd finally allowed Wilson to help him into the shower, followed by a massage, and the pain had finally subsided enough that he'd been able to sleep.

Wilson was absently straightening books on the bookshelves when the doorbell rang. He abandoned his task, and went to open the door and usher in his brother and his wife. "Josh, it's great to see you. It's been too long." He turned to hug his sister-in-law. "Anne, how are you?" They exchanged pleasantries and then explained, "mom's in the other room. I've been kicked out of my own kitchen."

Josh laughed. "So where's dad?" he asked, looking around the living room.

Wilson ignored the sadness that threatened to overwhelm him. "He's not going to be here. Apparently I'm not a member of the family anymore."

Josh couldn't keep the look of utter shock off his face. "What the hell happened?" he asked, not believing that the perfect Wilson brother had fallen from grace. Had he quit his job? Killed someone? He looked around the room, and his eyes landed on the Christmas tree in the corner. "Is it because you're dating outside of the religion?"

At that, Wilson let out a tiny huff of laughter. "Believe me, that's the least of my problems." He took a deep breath. "No, it's because I am dating a man." He waited to see what their reaction would be.

Josh's lips quirked into a smile very similar to his brother's. "Really?" He looked to his brother, looking for a sign that he was joking. There was none. "OK." The word was drawn out, as he tried to think of a reply. None was forthcoming, so he settled on pulling his brother into a rough hug. "I just want you to be happy." And maybe that would finally be true. He'd always wondered if James was happy, or if it was part of the perfect son routine. Three marriages, three divorces. Maybe his brother had finally broken away from the many strictures imposed by trying to make everyone else around him happy, and was finally trying to grab some happiness for himself.

Meanwhile Anne was asking, "so who's the lucky man? When do we get to meet him?"

"Do you remember Greg House?" Wilson asked his brother.

"Best man at weddings two and three?" Josh confirmed.

They all sat down on the couch as James replied, "yep, that's the one."

Anne was giggling. "It sounds like a cheesy plot from a movie where the groom ends up with the best man."

"Yeah, but lately my life has been more like science fiction than gay romantic-comedy."

"What's going on?" asked Josh, puzzled.

"House is pregnant." He took a breath and then answered the questions they were about to ask, "and yes, he's a man, and always has been, and yet despite this, as of tomorrow, he will be 23 weeks pregnant."

"How do you feel about all of this?" Anne asked.

"Excited. Happy. Terrified. You name it, I've probably felt it. We're just taking it one day at a time."

"Does mom know about Greg and the baby?" asked Josh.

James nodded. "On the 15th, he fell. It wasn't his fault; some stupid kid knocked him down." He turned to his sister-in-law. "House walks with a cane," he explained, and she nodded. "He fell and almost lost the baby. I called mom and dad, and that's when they found out about Greg. Dad walked out; mom stayed."

"Are Greg and the baby all right?"

"He's still recovering from the surgery, but he's doing better. The worst part is he'll be on bedrest for the rest of the pregnancy. That's the reason for all of the equipment, so he can work from home in a vain attempt to keep him from going insane with boredom." He glanced at his watch. "I'd better go and wake him up. He didn't sleep well last night, so we made him take a nap this morning. Why don't you go on in to the kitchen and say 'hi' to mom."

Just before it was time to eat, Greg emerged from the bedroom, having just showered and changed into fresh clothing. Somehow they managed to find a place for everyone to sit in the living room, even though Greg was occupying the entire couch. As they ate, James surreptitiously watched his family, who kept glancing at Greg, their eyes drawn to the curve of his belly, which he was no longer attempting to conceal. When they were done eating, they all agreed to wait before attempting dessert.

Jane reached behind her chair. "I know that it's a little early, regardless of what holiday we're celebrating, but seeing how this will probably be the only time we see each other this season…" She pulled out a present exquisitely wrapped in blue and silver paper and handed it to James, who began to carefully remove the paper.

"Come on, Wilson! We don't have all day," House grumbled.

James smiled, and silently refused to hurry. When the paper was off, he opened the box and folded back the layers of tissue paper to reveal a beautiful dress shirt, which he didn't need to try on to know that it was hand tailored to his exact measurements. He automatically looked at the cuff on the left sleeve, running his fingers over the monogram embroidered there. "Thank you." He leaned over to place a kiss on his mother's cheek. He was about to find his gift for her when she turned and produced another box, wrapped in paper identical the first gift. She handed it over to Greg who was looking at it as if it might explode.

House, at that moment, was wondering what in the world Wilson's mother could possibly have picked out for him, hoping it wasn't another dress shirt. With a gleeful abandonment usually only seen in four-year-olds, he ripped into the paper. He opened the box to find several band t-shirts. He unfolded them – Rolling Stones, Phish, Dave Mathew's Band, and The Who. One of them was identical to a shirt he already owned. He was a little puzzled, but when he glanced at the tag, he laughed.

"I thought you could use some larger t-shirts in the future," Jane explained, enjoying on of the rare times when Gregory House laughed.

Then Wilson pulled out the presents he had wrapped that morning. There was the bottle of Channel No. 5 for his mother, and the food processor for his brother and sister-in-law (practical but much appreciated). He had also wrapped House's presents for his parents – a book on the F-15 for his father and a glass figurine for his mother. Since John had retired, Blythe had started collecting them once she would no longer be forced to move every 18-24 months.

For James, there was a pair of cufflinks from Josh and Anna. Then Blythe had two presents in her hand. The first, for James, proved to be a beautiful silk tie, and the box for her son contained a set of speakers for his iPod.

Just when they thought that they were through exchanging presents, James reappeared from the bedroom with two more gifts, identical except for the wrapping—one was in blue, and the other in green paper. "These are from both of us." He handed one to his mother, and the other to Blythe. Taking their cue from James, the two women unwrapped the gifts at the same time, revealing boxes that were the trademark Tiffany blue. Inside each box was a beautiful silver frame containing a picture of Greg's ultrasound from 3 days ago. Both women wore identical smiles as they looked down at their unborn grandchild who appeared to be sucking her thumb. The frames were passed around so that everyone could see the picture.

As everyone sat around talking, James and Anne began doing the dishes, with Josh packing up the leftovers. When they were done, they dished up the dessert and brought the plates out to the living room.

After dessert, it was time for Jane to take John and Blythe to the airport, and Josh and Anne took their leave as well. James left Greg with the TV remote as he went to deal with the dessert plates. When he returned, Greg was watching How the Grinch Stole Christmas, complaining as the Grinch transformed into a new person. It was a complaint that James heard almost every year, and so he only half-heartedly listed to it. After hanging out in the living room watching TV and occasionally talking, they finally headed off to bed sometime around midnight.

* * *

The next morning, they laid in bed, luxuriating in the fact that for the first time in a long time, they were truly alone, with no chance of House's parents arriving unexpectedly. House sighed. "God, I wish we could have sex."

James chuckled and then agreed, "yeah, but I can't see Barry approving that any time soon. Just be grateful he let you have your cane back."

"But wouldn't it be fun to see the look on his face when we ask him if it's OK to…"

Wilson interrupted him, pretending that he hadn't heard him talking. "So, do you want pancakes for breakfast?"

"Trying to distract me?"

"Maybe. So… pancakes?" Wilson persisted.

"With macadamia nuts?"

Wilson nodded. "And I'll even warm up the maple syrup."

After breakfast, they debated whether to watch a movie or do something else. They finally hooked up the Playstation and House proceeded to humiliate Wilson at Super Mario Brothers. Finally Wilson complained of impending carpal tunnel syndrome, and they channel hopped until they found a movie they could both agree upon. Wilson was about to head to the kitchen to warm up some leftovers when House suddenly asked, "aren't you gonna light the candles. It's after sundown."

Wilson looked over at the menorah and the package of Hanukah candles sitting beside it. Two days ago he'd dug the thing out of one of the boxes at his old apartment, brought it home, and placed it on the bookcase. He'd never had any real intention of lighting the candles; his original thought had been that its presence might temper his mother's reaction when she saw the Christmas tree in the living room.

He got out his yarmulke and after some searching, finally found some matches in the kitchen. He put the menorah on the coffee table and fussed with the candles until they were reasonably straight. "Baruch atah Adonai, Eloheinu…."

He used the matches to light the shamash candle, and then used that to light the first candle. When he was finished, House spoke for the first time in a while. "There's a package underneath my side of the bed. Can you get it for me?" Wilson complied, and found the package with his name on it. Smiling, he went to the closet, where he'd hid House's gift. They'd often spent holidays together, but presents had never been part of that tradition. Only takeout and a lot of alcohol, but this year there were a lot of things that were different: they were in a relationship, and they'd certainly never decorated for the holidays before.

He took both packages to the living room, and sat down in the chair nearest the couch and passed over House's present. He watched as House ripped through the wrapping paper and found the stack of PSP games. He smiled at the memory of when he'd bought them. When he'd gone up to the counter, the clerk's eyes had bulged at the sheer number of games in his hands. 'Wow', he'd said, 'I wish I had a dad like you.' Wilson had merely smiled in return, tempted to explain that they were really for his pregnant boyfriend who had been confined to the couch for the next three months.

House looked up from the stack, a pleased grin on his face. "I thought you said that violent video games were bad."

Wilson shrugged. "Yeah, but bored, pregnant 46 year olds are even worse."

House grinned, and then gestured for Wilson to open his present, which was clumsily wrapped in the blue Hanukkah paper Wilson had used to wrap his family's gifts the day before.

He opened the box, which contained a black leather jacket. He pulled it on; it fit like a glove.

House smiled appreciatively. "Someday I'll convince you to go for a ride on the bike." He watched as Wilson nodded absently, his eyes on the frame that had been hidden beneath the jacket. "You'd probably better put that someplace where no one will see it. Can you imagine the rumor that would start?"

Wilson laughed. A framed ultrasound showing up in a bachelor's office would definitely cause talk. "I'm beginning to think that the rumor mill is broken. I haven't heard a thing about you and I dating."

House snorted. "That's because the only people that know are my team and Cuddy, none of whom want to be the start of that rumor, seeing how they'll have to work with me in the future. The others that know are my doctors, and it would be a breach of doctor-patient confidentiality."

Wilson grinned. "I guess it will have to wait until you return to work." At House's raised eyebrow, he continued, "I'd give you less than a week. You like shocking people too much, and now that the team knows, I can't see you holding back."

"You wouldn't mind?"

Wilson laughed. "I've resigned myself to the inevitable." He then attempted a change in subject. "I talked to your team. As of tomorrow, you have a case." The diversion was successful, and for the rest of the evening, House kept pestering him for details, which Wilson steadfastly refused to provide.

TBC


	18. Telecommuting

Chapter 18: Telecommuting

On Monday morning, Wilson got up early so that he could make sure that everything was ready for House's first day home alone since his fall. He looked down at the coffee table, where everything was laid out: iPod, Gameboy, PSP, remotes for various pieces of electronic equipment, laptop computer, a stack of journals and a few magazines. He looked around; the fax machine and the dry-erase board were within arms reach. Finally he could delay no longer, and he had to head off to work, leaving House alone on the couch.

House amused himself destroying electronic critters until the phone rang. It was Foreman. After a few minutes of messing with the computer, they finally got the teleconferencing link working. As the fax machine began spitting out the patient file, Cameron was presenting the case. House began writing symptoms on the whiteboard, and when he looked up, he could see Foreman doing the same in the conference room. He watched as Cameron and Chase had a disagreement on a possible diagnosis, finally feeling that things were getting back to some semblance of normalcy.

At 11:30 AM, they were still waiting for the results of all of the tests, and House had been amusing himself with one of his new video games all morning. He had just turned on the television to watch the Young and the Restless when there was a knock at the door, which he ignored, but then he heard the sound of a key in the lock. He hid his irritation when he heard Cameron call out, "House? It's me, Cameron."

"I should have guessed that you'd be the first to volunteer for 'House-sitting' duty."

She smiled at the pun, ignoring the bitterness in his voice. She cleared a space on the coffee table and laid out a Ruben and a spinach salad. "What do you want to drink?" she asked.

"Cranberry juice with ice," he grudgingly replied. He watched as she wandered into his kitchen, trying hard not to look like she was checking out her boss's apartment. He sighed; she was only the first of many people that would invade his private sanctuary. She returned with his drink, and then to his surprise, pulled another spinach salad and a bottle of water out of the bag. She curled up in the chair next to the couch and began eating. He tensed, waiting for the inevitable questions about how he was feeling, but none came. She appeared to be watching the soap opera with the level of concentration usually reserved for brain surgery. When the credits were rolling, she took the takeout containers into the kitchen and got him a refill on the juice. She was picking up her keys when he finally spoke. "Any idea when the labs will be back?"

She shrugged. "Chase has been calling, but they're pretty backed up today. Foreman will fax them over as soon as they arrive."

That afternoon brought inconclusive test results and another troubling symptom. When Wilson arrived home at 7 PM, he found House stretched out on the couch, having a heated discussion with his fellows. He smiled, enjoying watching House in action. Once again he was grateful that Cuddy had come up with a plan to keep House occupied. By the time dinner was ready, they had apparently decided upon a course of treatment. The rest of the evening passed uneventfully.

At 5 AM, they were startled out of a sound sleep when the phone rang. Wilson answered, and then passed the phone over to House. From the side of the conversation he could hear, Wilson guessed that House's patient had taken a turn for the worse, and he made a mental note to talk to the team about limiting the late night and early morning calls, at least for the first few weeks. He sighed as he watched House limp out to the living room to continue the differential via teleconferencing. Wilson stumbled into the shower; might as well head in early and get caught up on his paperwork.

As the week progressed, the patient began to show some signs of improvement and on Thursday, the team took on two new patients: a mother and her two-week-old baby boy. On Friday, House and Cameron were again watching Y & R at lunchtime. Surprisingly, of all of his fellows invading his space, he found he minded her the least. Maybe because she did the most convincing job pretending to watch the soap opera. Or maybe she really was interested in the goings on in Genoa City. On Wednesday, she'd even asked him about the backstory on one of the main characters.

When the show was over, she was about to head to the kitchen when he stopped her with a question. "So, how come you've pulled House-duty three times this week when Chase and Foreman have only been here once each?"

She sat down and frantically tried to come up with an excuse for them, but was stopped by her boss's piercing stare. Finally she was forced to admit, "I think your condition makes them a little nervous."

She was startled to hear the hint of laughter in his voice. "Do they think it's _contagious_? Where'd they go to med school?"

"Some lame schools where they probably teach you that only women can get pregnant. I can see why they're a little spooked. I can't see either of them putting themselves through all of this," she gestured to the couch where he was confined.

"Tell them they don't have to worry. If they ever have a conversation with someone they know for sure is dead, they should make it very clear that they don't want a baby. That should do it."

"Is that what happened?" she ventured, knowing that personal questions had always been met with anger and sarcasm.

He was staring off into space, remembering. "She said she would give me what I needed." His voice was soft and she had to listen intently to hear his words. "Why this? Months of bedrest and pain, and she probably won't make it."

"But maybe she will," Cameron suggested.

He shrugged noncommittally, and wouldn't meet her eyes.

She picked up the plates and went to put them away. She picked up her keys, but before she reached the door, she turned to look back at the man on the couch. "It's OK to want this." She watched as House stared down at the baseball in his hands, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the ball. She sighed. "You can pretend you aren't hopeful, but if you didn't think there was a chance, you wouldn't be risking your life."

His face was expressionless. "Patients are idiots."

She was almost out the door when she countered, "everyone lies."


	19. New Years Eve

Chapter 19: New Years Eve

The next morning, he was surprised when Cameron entered his apartment at 11:30. "I thought you'd grow a spine and make the other two do their share of the House-sitting."

"We were all heading home, and they both live in the opposite direction. You'll see them next week."

They ate in companionable silence until House suddenly asked, "So…. any exciting plans for New Years Eve?"

She was so surprised that she almost choked on the bite of salad she had just taken. When she recovered, she answered, "no, just enjoying the fact that we have no patients. How about you?" she ventured.

House snorted. "Wilson's gonna be on call until at least 10 PM. When we were both trying to get Christmas off to go see our families, he got Rosen to cover Christmas Eve in exchange for working Thanksgiving and tonight. I mean, really, isn't that a shitty thing to do to a fellow Jew who's trying to get Christmas Eve off so he can go see his boyfriend's parents.

Cameron's lips twitched as she tried to suppress a smile. "Most department heads wouldn't have even bothered to switch. They'd just made out the schedule to suit their own purposes."

"Obviously, I haven't been enough of a bad influence on him. Abuse of power is essential for a department head."

She rolled her eyes, but didn't comment. "I was thinking of renting some movies. We could watch them together." Immediately, she regretted her impulsive suggestion, but surprisingly, he seemed to be considering it.

"What movies?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. Any suggestions?"

"Nothing girly, like Sleepless in Seattle." He shuddered. "How about Attack of the Killer Tomatoes?"

She laughed. "OK! I've never seen that one. Bad 'B' movie marathon it is. What about food?"

"Chinese? The place down the street doesn't use MSG."

"Sounds good." She smiled in anticipation. "Uhm… what about the others? Should I invite them?" she asked, wondering if she'd gone too far.

House paused to consider. Normally he would never invite others to invade the sanctuary of his home, but this last week hadn't been all that bad. And it was only the one time. "Fine. Wouldn't want to make them jealous."

Phone calls were exchanged and plans were made, before Cameron headed off to the grocery store and the video mart.

* * *

At 6 PM, Wilson was heading down to the cafeteria, praying that he could find something worth eating, when he saw the light on in Cuddy's office. He detoured from his original path and tapped on her door. She looked up and waved him in.

"What are you doing here on New Years Eve? It's a Saturday!" he exclaimed.

She gestured at the piles of paper arrayed across her desk. "Year end reports, department budget requests, a proposal for a new MRI, plus the normal, everyday crap."

"Go home! Have some fun once in a while. Nothing will fall apart if you put it off until Monday." She was looking stubborn. "Fine, if you won't go home, then why not go to my home." At her confused look, he explained, "House and the kids are having a movie night."

Now she was looking shocked. "Is someone putting a gun to his head? Threatening him to make him interact with other people?"

Wilson shrugged. "I have no idea. He told me about it this afternoon. Maybe the world is about to end and no one bothered to tell me about it?"

"Don't they have two new patients?"

"Didn't you hear? They both had an allergy to soy protein. Diagnosed and discharged in less than 24 hours."

"Three patients in a week. I think we really do have confirmation that the world is about to end."

When Wilson arrived home, it was to the unusual sight of a living room filled with people. There were bowls of popcorn scattered around the room, and enough Chinese takeout containers to feed a small army. He filled a plate with food and went off to the kitchen to reheat it. He grabbed a pair of chopsticks and sat down next to the couch. "So, what are we watching?"

"Cannibal Women in the Avocado Jungle of Death," House replied, saying the title with relish.

Wilson laughed. "No, really, what are we watching?"

"Can you believe someone actually made a movie with that title?" Cuddy asked. "If you haven't guessed, it's 'B' movie night. We've already watched Attach of the Killer Tomatoes and My Best Friend is a Vampire."

House was irritated. "Hey, My Best Friend is a Vampire isn't a B movie. They actually had a real budget for that one. It should be classified as classic 80's teenage angst movie."

"Aren't you a little old to have been a teenager then?" teased Wilson.

"I was in my twenties," House protested. "I always thought that the guy that played Jeremy was pretty cute," he offered, a gleam of amusement in his eyes. Instantly, all eyes in the room were upon him. "Hello? Dating a man here?"

"But Jeremy was, like, sixteen?" Chase was almost stuttering.

"So? The actor was at least eighteen. Definitely not jailbait, and it's not like I'd be attracted to him now. Younger men are fine, but not that young. The look in his eyes grew speculative. "Of course, that actor would probably be Wilson's age by now…."

"Great! Now I need to worry that you'll leave me for a has-been actor that hasn't acted in anything in the last twenty years." Wilson was trying to keep a straight face and failing miserably.

"I think he may have been in Dead Poet's Society," suggested Cameron, giggling at the glare Wilson shot her way.

They finally settled down to watch the end of Cannibal Women in the Avocado Jungle of Death. As the credits rolled, Foreman was laughing. "That has to be one of the worst fight scenes in the history of movies. I've seen five-year-olds swordfight better than that."

"What about the piranha tank! That was even worse!" Chase exclaimed.

"At least there was plenty of eye-candy." Surprisingly, this was from Lisa Cuddy.

They all laughed, and then Cameron looked at her watch. "It's almost midnight!" She and Lisa hurried out to the kitchen, while everyone else managed to shut down the DVD player and turned the TV on to Dick Clark from Times Square. The two women returned, bearing bottles of sparkling grape juice and a bunch of somewhat dusty wineglasses. They had just finished pouring the juice into the glasses when the final countdown began. Grinning like idiots, they all joined in. "5…4…3…2…1…Happy New Year!" They set off the crackers that Foreman had brought. They were laughing and exchanging hugs when Cuddy looked over at the couch where Wilson was still kissing House. "OK you two, break it up. You don't need to rub it in that you are the only ones with dates on New Years Eve!"

When the two men finally separated, Wilson was blushing and House was looking smug. When the merriment had died down, Wilson glanced over at House, who nodded.

Wilson cleared his throat. "Hey everyone. There's something else that we need to celebrate, besides the fact that it's a new year."

Everyone turned to look expectantly at him, curious as to what he was talking about. Now that everyone's eyes were on him, he wasn't sure what he should say, so he choked out, "twenty-four weeks."

Lisa Cuddy was the first one to grasp the significance. "The baby… oh my God… congratulations!" She leaned down to embrace House. Meanwhile, everyone else were refilling their glasses to toast the important milestone, that the baby was now considered viable—able to have a reasonable chance at living if it were born now, although not without the risk of serious complications.

The merrymaking continued for a while longer, and then everyone pitched in to help clean up the living room, as House was ordered off to bed. Wilson joined him there a half-hour later when everyone else had left. "So, is this going to be an annual tradition?" He wasn't surprised when House ignored the question.

* * *

_Author's note: So did anyone catch the inside joke? Hint: What actor was in Dead Poet's Society and My Best Friend is a Vampire?_


	20. The Pryce is Right

Chapter 20: The Pryce is Right

By the middle of January, House had become resigned to the routine of his life. It no longer seemed strange to be treating patients from the comfort of his own couch. Everyday, someone would join him for lunch—usually a member of his team, but occasionally Lisa or James would surprise him on the rare occasion when they could get away for an hour.

He'd gone back to his pre-surgery level of medication, and the enforced lack of walking was resulting in less pain in his thigh, which somewhat made up for the increase in back pain he was experiencing. Then there was the fact that his gastrointestinal system was becoming increasingly unhappy, as a result of being rearranged by the presence of the fetus. He was forced to monitor what he ate very carefully, and he switched to eating 5 or 6 smaller meals, which seemed to help reduce the persistent heartburn. He always made sure that one of those meals corresponded to noon-time.

Barry was happy with his progress, and had even eased up on the restrictions, so that House was allowed to sit up for brief periods of time to eat or play the piano, as long as he sat in a chair rather than the hard wooden bench.

He was playing a Mozart sonata when the doorbell rang. He grabbed his cane and limped slowly to the door. It seemed like everything he did these days was slow. He opened the door, expecting to see the delivery guy from the Wok Shop, but instead saw a man only a few years younger than himself. As soon as the door opened, the man spoke, "Dr. House. I…."

"No one here by that name," he interrupted.

"Please, Dr. House, I just…"

"Do I look like a doctor?"

"No, but you didn't when I was your patient."

House looked closely at the man, but couldn't place him.

"You told me my wife was having an affair because she hadn't noticed I was orange."

Maybe the man did look slightly familiar. For the first time, House felt a shiver of fear. "Sorry, no refunds." He tried to close the door, but the man had wedged his foot in the doorway. House backed away from the door, trying to locate the phone handset without being obvious about it.

The man followed him into the apartment. "Last week, you and your team saved my sister's life. I went by your office, but you were never there. This morning, I tried again, and your team was in the room next door, obviously teleconferencing a call with you. So I looked in the phone book and there was only one House listed. I just had to thank you in person."

Now House was looking even more uncomfortable; this was even worse than a deranged stalker. "Fine. You've said thanks. Now you can leave me alone."

"I can't just leave it at that. You saved my sister's life, and I know for a fact you saved me a couple of million in the divorce settlement. She didn't even contest it. Tell me what I can do for you?"

"Hospital policy forbids me from accepting anything from you." House stated, sinking down onto the couch. Maybe if he ignored the guy, he would go away.

But the man was not to be deterred. "Diagnostics is the smallest department in the hospital. I could endow another fellowship in your department."

"And have another person to train to be a half-way competent diagnostician? No thanks."

"How about a wing of the hospital named after you?"

The Gregory House Wing. He shuddered. "No way in hell."

"A piece of equipment?"

"If you want to give cash to the hospital, there's no way I can stop you. Just leave me out of it."

"There must be something I can do!"

At the moment, the doorbell rang. "You really want to do something for me?" House asked. The man nodded. "Fine. You can pay the delivery guy for the Chinese food," he said, nodding toward the door. The man laughed and went to open the door. Sure enough, there was a delivery guy on the doorstep. As he pulled out his wallet, he heard House call out, "don't give him too big of a tip, or he'll expect it next time."

"How much?" the man asked the kid with the food.

"Thirty-eight fifty," the kid supplied.

With a mischievous grin, he peeled off a hundred dollar bill and told the kid to keep the change. He turned around with the box in his arms. "Where do you want the food?"

He looked down at the coffee table, which was littered with charts and lab results. "Kitchen counter," he replied, gesturing vaguely toward the other room.

As the man headed into the kitchen, he heard a key in the lock, and he began to formulate a plan that had multiple benefits: punish the pushy stranger for invading his house, and the additional benefit of watching Wilson blush. Unfortunately the timing didn't work out right—the man returned before he could pull James into a truly lascivious kiss. Time to switch to plan B.

"Wilson. Let me introduce you to Mr. Orange. He just bought us dinner." He was rewarded by Wilson looking adorably confused.

Wilson recovered quickly. He had no idea why one of the hospital's largest donors was standing in the middle of his living room, but years of benefit events and schmoozing donors had trained him well. "Mr. Pryce. It's good to see you again." He went over to clasp the other man's outstretched hand. "I heard your sister is doing better." He'd followed the case after House's team had called him in for a consult, even after cancer had been ruled out.

"Thank you. We're hoping she can come home in a few days, and please, call me David."

Suddenly, Wilson was aware that he was standing there in his sock-feet, having toed off his shoes at the front door. He tried to play the good host. "Can I offer you something to drink?"

"Water?" David replied, sitting down next to House.

House watched as Wilson escaped to the kitchen. "What can I do so you will leave me alone?"

"Tell me what I can do to thank you. And don't say that Chinese takeout qualifies."

House could hear the freezer door open and the clink of ice cubes. He scowled. "NICU," he finally whispered.

David was confused; the acronym had been bitten out so abruptly that it sounded like a sneeze.

"Neonatal Intensive Care Unit," House elaborated, keeping his voice subdued so that Wilson wouldn't overhear.

"Anything in particular?" he whispered back, picking up on House's desire for secrecy.

House shook his head. "Just keep my name out of it."

When he returned, Wilson saw Mr. Pryce shaking House's hand. After a few minutes of rather strained smalltalk, in which House refused to participate, their unexpected visitor finally departed. From the expression on House's face, he knew not to ask what was going on. As they watched a movie from House's vast collection of DVDs, House was sullen and withdrawn, despite the fact the movie was a comedy. When they went to bed House was restless, unable to find a comfortable position.

Finally Wilson decided to find out what was wrong. "Is your leg hurting? Do you need another pill?"

"I'm fine." The fifth 'fine' of the evening.

James looked down at where Greg's right hand was resting. "Is she alright? Should I call Barry?"

House shook his head, no. Finally he realized that Wilson wasn't going to let this go. "She's active tonight. Moving a lot. Hard to settle down when she decides it's time to play."

Wilson nodded, and appeared to accept the explanation. Whatever was bothering House probably wasn't something medical.

* * *

By 11 AM, Lisa Cuddy was feeling frustrated. Why had she wanted this job? She hardly ever treated actual patients any more. Hadn't she become a doctor to help people? At least that's what she'd said on her med school applications. She sighed and pulled another stack of paperwork toward the center of her desk.

Her assistant poked her head into the office. "Dr. Cuddy? Do you have a few minutes for David Pryce?"

She moved the papers back to their original location. "Of course. Send him in." She got up as he entered. "David. How's your sister doing?"

"She's feeling much better. Dr. Chase said that she can go home this afternoon."

"Is there anything I can do for you?"

"I would like you to tell me a little about the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit."

"Of course. I could give you a tour if you'd like." On the way there, she told him about the facilities – how many infants they could treat, and the types of cases they typically saw. They put on sterile gowns and entered the room. She lead him over to look down at the newest arrival—Philip Cavendish, born eight weeks premature, weighing 4 lbs, 4 oz.

He looked down in wonder. "I didn't know a baby could be so small."

"We've had much smaller. Especially as more people use fertility treatments and multiple births become more common." They exited the unit and removed their gowns. She led him to their success wall, filled with pictures of children who had been former patients of the NICU.

"I'd like to donate three million dollars to the NICU."

"If you are interested in children, we are currently raising money for a new pediatric oncology wing."

He shook his head. "No, it has to be the NICU."

She blinked at his choice of words. "Any idea of how you would like the money spent?" she asked, hoping he would be at least somewhat flexible.

"I don't care. Whatever will do the most good—whether that's new equipment or hiring more staff."

She was surprised; most donors went for things most easy to slap a 'donated by' label on them. She was even more surprised by his next statement. "The only stipulation I have is that the donation is to be anonymous." She was only partially successful at masking her surprise. One the way up to the 8th floor, they must have passed at least 5 plaques bearing the Pryce family name. There was even a fountain bearing the name of Cynthia Pryce, the ex-Mrs. David Pryce.

"Of course. Whatever you'd like."

They were almost at the elevators when they were joined by James Wilson.

David was quick to greet the newcomer. "Good morning, Dr. Wilson. It's good to see you again."

Wilson reached out to shake the other man's hand. "Mr. Pryce." His short answer was barely enough to qualify as a polite response.

As if he sensed the other man's hostility, David excused himself. "I need to get back to my sister."

He was barely out of earshot when Cuddy turned to confront Wilson. "Care to tell me why you were rude to a man who just donated 3 million to the hospital?"

"I was polite to him when he was in my living room yesterday, but House has been giving me the silent treatment ever since."

"Why was he at your house?"

He shrugged. "I have no idea. All I know is that House didn't want him there." He looked around at his surroundings. "So why are you on the eighth floor?"

"He wanted to donate 3 million dollars anonymously to improve the NICU. You don't think…" She looked over at her colleague who was slumped against the wall.

"Yeah… it would explain a lot." He could imagine the conversation Pryce and House must have had. He sighed. "I was going to try and head home early, but maybe I should leave him alone for a while."

Impulsively, she leaned over to hug him. "Let me know if there is anything I can do to help."

TBC


	21. Reaching Out

Chapter 21: Reaching Out

The black mood had remained all morning. Chase had joined him for lunch, and he could sense the concerned looks the younger man kept sending his way. He couldn't concentrate on the goings on in Genoa City, and he mentally counted down the minutes until the credits were over and the other man would leave.

Chase was almost out the door, when he finally asked, "is everything all right?"

"Fine," he snarled, instantly regretting the anger in his reply.

Chase hesitated, and then ventured, "is there anything I can do to help?"

House shook his head, staring at the floor until he heard the other man leave. He knew it wasn't Chase's fault. It didn't help that they didn't currently have a patient. They'd been so efficient at clearing patients that the team was scouring the clinic and the ER for interesting cases. He couldn't even find solace in his piano, having used up his allotted time this morning, when he must have started at least fifteen different pieces, but abandoning them after only a few measures. He was sick of playing video games, and none of the 15,326 songs on his iPod fit his mood.

He finally picked up the laptop computer that was sitting on the coffee table. He opened his web browser and logged on to the discussion group. He's created a username a few weeks ago, but he'd never done anything but lurk and read the posts.

He hesitated, and then clicked the button for Start New Thread. He looked at the box for Thread Topic. He finally typed in **Hi! I'm new.** It seemed sufficiently girly, even if it was far from original. There were at least five similarly titled threads on the first page alone.

He moved his cursor to the message box. Now what? He decided to follow the format most seemed to be following. **As of today, I am 27 weeks and 2 days pregnant. It's an extremely high-risk pregnancy because it is an abdominal ectopic pregnancy. That means the baby is outside the uterus **no need to mention that he didn't actually _have_ a uterus **and the placenta has attached itself to various organs in my abdomen. I have been on bedrest for the last 5 weeks. I am 42 years old, **ok so he'd shaved a few years off, **and this wasn't a planned pregnancy. **He snorted. Now that was the understatement of the year. Might as well lay it all out there. **My doctors hope that the baby and I can make it until 34 weeks. The baby was given about a 1% chance of surviving, and there's a chance I will die as well.**

**If that wasn't bad enough, I suffer from chronic pain. Vicodin is the only thing that is really effective at controlling the pain, but it isn't good for the baby, so they've switched my meds to something better for the baby. Even still, my kid has 2 days of detox to look forward to, if she survives to delivery. They say it will be painless, but how the hell can they be so sure?  
**

**Some days, I just feel like I am lying here, waiting for the next piece of bad news, or for something to go wrong.**

He looked at the screen. God, it looked so depressing spelled out in black and white. He hesitated, and then moved the cursor to click the box to post the message. He stared at the screen. What had he been thinking? He moved over to one of the celebrity gossip pages and tried to convince himself he was interested in the trials and tribulations of Paris Hilton. Then he downloaded more music for his iPod. He was about to shut down his computer when decided to go back to the discussion group. There were already six replies to his post.

The majority of them were useless expressions of sympathy, but one post caught his eye. It was from a woman pregnant with her second child, but what was interesting was that she also suffered from chronic pain. She even took the time to detail the meds she had been on for both of her pregnancies. **When I was pregnant with Jason, several of my friends were pregnant at the same time. They were all eating organic food and staying away from anything that could possibly be harmful for the baby. I could see the look on their faces every time I would take a pill. It didn't matter what my doctor told me, I still felt like I wasn't doing the right thing, and I worried about the effect on my baby. Jason is now three years old, and is a bright, active little boy. You'd never guess he was a drug addict the day he was born. He went through the two day detox, and it didn't look like he was in pain. Three days after he was born, I was able to take him home.**

He smiled and then clicked on the last reply – Edith, who was also on extended bedrest, and who suggested knitting as a way to pass the time. House snorted – not in this lifetime. After some consideration, he clicked and began typing a reply to all of the posts. When Wilson returned home a few hours later, he was surprised to find House in a playful mood, yesterday's incident apparently forgotten.


	22. Valentine’s Day

Chapter 22: Valentine's Day

The hospital was quiet when James arrived at a quarter to six in the morning. He smiled at all of the pink and red balloons in the gift shop, and once again he wondered if he should plan on stopping at a florist on the way home from work. For the hundredth time, he dismissed the idea, knowing flowers would only invite ridicule.

As he waited for the conference call with two colleagues in London and Tokyo to come through, he mentally reviewed the contents of his kitchen, making sure he had everything he needed for the dinner he planned to cook. He knew there was nothing to worry about, but just thinking about the fresh herbs and the block of imported Venezuelan chocolate made him happy. His enjoyment wasn't even affected by the fact that this morning, when he had leaned over to place a kiss on House's forehead and whisper "Happy Valentines Day", House's mumbled response had sounded suspiciously like "go to hell". He knew House had been up in the middle of the night as his patient had taken a turn for the worse, and he was content to leave the other man sleeping when he'd crept out of the apartment at 5:30 in the morning.

When the call was finished, he started reviewing the charts for the patients he would see that morning, confident that if everything went according to plan, he should be able to leave the hospital by 4:30 PM, plenty of time to get home and start cooking.

Everything was going well until the page from the ER during his second patient of the day. Sara Partinski had just been brought in. He made a detour down to the ER, and by the time he saw his third scheduled patient, he was already an hour behind schedule. Lunch was a sandwich eaten quickly at his desk while reading files, complete with a cup of lukewarm coffee. He phoned home to let House know that he'd probably be coming home late. Absently, he promised to call before he left the hospital.

He checked to make sure that Sara had been transferred to a room, and that his orders were being followed, and that the advanced directive was clearly notated in her chart. The afternoon was filled with more patients, and it was after six when he returned to Sara's room. "Where are the children?" he asked the woman sitting next to the hospital bed.

"They're at my mother's. They've said their good-byes; they don't need to be here for this," replied Barbara.

Wilson nodded. After all of this time, it really was the final good-bye. After years of beating the odds, this was one fight that Sara wouldn't win.

When he'd first met the couple, he'd been at PPTH for less than a week, and was still occasionally getting lost in the hallways. When Sara had found the lump in her right breast, she hadn't wanted to wait two weeks to see the head of oncology, so she'd checked out the credentials of the new guy and made an appointment for that afternoon. Barbara had been there for that appointment, even though she'd been 8 ½ months pregnant with their first child. Daniel had been born five days later.

Sara had fought cancer in the same way she handled everything else in her life – ferocious and aggressive, with a meticulous attention to detail. Lab results, symptoms and appointments were all managed with the day planner she was never without. When her body was cancer free, she had turned her organizational energy to fighting the disease in a different way, joining the board of the local chapter of the Komen foundation and helping PPTH raise money for cancer research. It was during that time that James had gotten to know Sara and Barbara.

She'd made it to the five year mark, but then they had found a lump in the other breast. This time, he had been giving the news to a friend. Again, surgery and harsh chemo had beat the disease into remission, but three months ago, scans had shown the cancer was in her bones and lungs, and was spreading fast.

He looked down at the woman in the bed. Out of habit, he checked the monitors, but he already knew she probably wouldn't last the night. "Do you mind if I stay?"

"No, please stay," Barbara replied, gesturing to the chair next to her. They sat, silently, watching as Sara struggled for breath. After an interminable time, the tenor of her breathing changed. With Barbara holding her hand, they stayed by her side until her breathing slowed, and then finally ceased altogether. Automatically, Wilson moved to turn off the monitors, and record the time of death. He was debating whether to leave Barbara alone when she pulled him into an embrace, and he was surprised to feel the wetness on his own cheeks. Typical Barbara, always there to offer comfort to someone else. When she released him, he watched as she wiped the tears from her face.

"Is there anything I can do to help?" he asked.

She shook her head. "No, Sara took care of everything. The only thing she couldn't plan was when." She seemed to be gathering her composure. "What time is it?"

"Nine-thirty."

"Is it that late? On Valentine's Day, no less. Surely there's someone who's waiting for you! I'm so sorry. I should have sent you home hours ago."

He had to smile. Barbara was always worrying about others, and never enough about herself. "It's OK. There's one advantage to dating another doctor. He actually understands when I have to stay late." He thought for a moment, and then grinned. "Fact is, he usually works weirder hours than I do." It was strange to be talking about something so mundane under the circumstances, but he'd seen it time and again in his line of work. He realized that Barbara was grinning at him, and he mentally reviewed what he had just said.

"'He?' Have you been holding out on us, Dr. Wilson?"

He remembered all of the events that he had attended with his ex-wife, where he had seen Sara and Barbara. "Julie and I split up almost a year ago. Since then, I started dating my best friend, who just happens to be a man." He hated the fact that he was blushing. "It isn't exactly common knowledge around here."

She nodded, understanding. "You should get home. Especially seeing how it's your first Valentine's Day together."

"You'll be all right?" he couldn't help asking.

"Go!" She shoed him out of the room. He went back to his office to collect his briefcase, and remembering his promise, called home.

By the time he was standing on his doorstep, he was completely exhausted. When he was inside, he dropped his briefcase by the door and slung his jacket across the back of the couch, too tired to hang it up properly. He sank onto the couch next to House, and the first thing he noticed was the two bottles sitting on the coffee table. The second thing he noticed was the smell of pizza. He grabbed the plates to serve up the slices, and he found that all of the pepperoni on the pizza had been arranged to form a giant heart. He glanced over at House, who was snorting in derision. He sank back into the cushions, and took a long pull at the beer. He looked closely at the bottle that House was drinking from, and realized that it was actually root beer, even thought the bottle looked similar to the one in Wilson's hand.

He sat back and ate his pizza, grateful for moments like this. With House, he didn't need to pretend that his day had been great. He didn't need to make small talk, or pretend that he wasn't exhausted. As he ate his pizza and drank his beer, he felt the stress and sadness of the day bleed away. When he was finished, he sank back into the pillows, staring sightlessly at the television.

While House went to get ready for bed, Wilson rounded up the empty bottles from the coffee table and took the pizza off to the kitchen. He'd eaten over half of the medium pizza, while House had only eaten a single slice. He pulled open the drawer with the Saran Wrap, but found there was something impeding his progress. He looked closer, and then pulled out the magazine that was jammed in the drawer. He turned it over, and found a blue bow stuck to the front – he recognized it from the Hanukah paper he had bought in December. Scrawled across the front in House's writing was "Happy Valentine's Day!". He looked closer, and then laughed. Only House would decide that a copy of the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Edition would make an appropriate present.

When he put the leftover pizza in the refrigerator, he saw all of the ingredients for the dinner he had planned on making. So much for that idea. And then he realized that the massage oil and belly cream (guaranteed to reduce the appearance of stretch marks) were still in the drawer in his desk. Damn. There was still the third part of his original plan, but he was starting to lose his nerve.

When Wilson had finished brushing his teeth, House was already waiting in bed. Wilson climbed in, and then handed over the exquisitely wrapped box. Uncharacteristically, House carefully peeled off the paper, as if ripping it would cause the small box to explode. He opened the box and silently stared at the two platinum rings for so long that Wilson was beginning to think that this had been a really, really bad idea. House's face was expressionless when he reached under his pillow and pulled out a small, unwrapped box, which he handed over to Wilson, who opened it to reveal another pair of rings, also platinum, but slightly wider and flatter, with a beveled edge.

The silly grin on his face faded when he heard House's next words. "I don't want to marry you." He tried to not feel hurt, as he stared down at the wedding rings in his hand.

House's words were halting, as he tried to explain. "It seems like marriage only ends in one of two ways. Two people living together, but utterly indifferent to each other. Or there's divorce, where you spend months arguing over who gets the silver bookends."

Wilson was distracted by the last statement. His wives had never wanted the bookends, and then he realized where those presents must have come from. Neither of his last two wives had been particularly bookish, and it was House's way of giving something only to him. He realized that House was still speaking.

"And weddings are the worst of all. Wedding cake and flowers. The symbolic first dance." He shuddered. "Standing up in front of a bunch of people saying some stupid vow, just because it's 'tradition'."

"There's always writing your own vows," Wilson suggested.

"Yeah right. Like I want to say something that personal in front of others. What we have is just between us. It doesn't involve anyone else." He sighed and stared at the rings for a moment before he reached over and plucked a ring out of the box James was holding. "Will you be with me, love me, and _not_ marry me for the rest of our lives?" he asked.

James nodded, and allowed Greg to slide the ring onto his left hand, where it fit perfectly. He grabbed the ring intended for Greg out of the box Greg was holding, and repeated the question. When House agreed, he placed the ring on his hand. They were now wearing mismatched wedding rings. James looked into the box held in his hand, containing the companion to the ring he was currently wearing, and saw that the ring was inscribed on the inside. He picked it up and squinted at the tiny writing: Property of James Wilson. He grinned, knowing that the ring he wore now identified him as the 'Property of Gregory House'. He picked up Greg's left hand, and slid the second ring onto his ring finger, so that he was now wearing two rings on the same finger. Neither band was very wide, and even though it was unusual for a man to have two rings like that, it looked good on Greg's long fingers. "I know that it may never be legal for us to be married, but I want you to know that this feels more real than any of my marriages. I just wish that I had figured out what I really wanted years ago."

Greg nodded, and then picked up the last ring. Following Wilson's lead, he looked at the inside of the ring, and saw the inscription: JW & GH written in gothic script. He placed the ring on James's finger, and then confided, "I've loved you since the day I met you." Then he grinned, "and I wish you'd have figured it out years ago as well." Unfortunately, he spoiled the effect by yawning, and Wilson insisted that it was time for them both to go to bed.

* * *

The next morning, Wilson was in his office working on the schedule for the month of April. It was frustrating, because he had no idea what days he might be taking off, so he was forced to make the schedule assuming that he would be there the entire time. As he worked at filling in the grid, he kept looking at the two platinum rings on his left ring finger. His fingers weren't as long as House's, but the double rings didn't look too ridiculous on his hand.

He was shuffling through a stack of papers when there was a tap at the door, and then Cameron entered, holding a steaming cup of coffee. He frowned in confusion. He occasionally stopped by the diagnostics conference room to pilfer a cup of coffee, especially when it was Cameron on coffee duty, but she had never brought a cup by before. Then he saw the look on her face, and realized that this cup of coffee would be served with a side portion of sympathy.

He sighed. Despite her age, sometimes Dr. Cameron seemed so damn young, which in turn made him feel very old and jaded. She set the mug down on his desk, trying not to look like she was lingering in his office. All at once, he figured out where the magazine and beer had come from. Finally he decided to speak. "I bet you think that beer and pizza is a crappy way to spend Valentines Day."

She slid into one of the chairs in front of his desk. "Isn't it?"

He didn't know why he felt like he needed to explain it to her, but for some reason he wanted her to understand his relationship with House. "For most of my life I have done what was expected of me. That included Valentine's Days with overpriced flowers, an expensive meal, and diamonds that felt more like blood money than a gift. And where did it get me? Three divorces and three ex-wives." He sighed. "Pretty pathetic. The saddest thing is that for the last few years, the one place I felt happiest was sitting on House's couch drinking beer and eating pizza or Chinese takeout directly from the containers."

He looked up, and saw that she was looking intently at him. "Sitting on that couch, I'm not expected to be the 'boy-wonder oncologist, or the kind, compassionate person everyone expects me to be. Hell, I don't even have to be particularly nice. I don't have to live up to anyone's expectations, because House has never expected me to be that other person. Does that make any sense?"

She nodded slowly. "So everything is really OK?"

"More than OK. One of the best Valentine's Days ever."

"What about the magazine?" she couldn't help but ask.

He laughed. "I don't know what exactly that meant. I guess it's House's round-about way of saying that it's OK to look but not touch." He reached over to take a drink of the coffee, and saw her staring at the rings on his left hand.

"Looks like there was something other than beer and pizza."

He smiled, but refused to offer any details. It wasn't until almost a week later when she again pulled House-sitting duty that she verified that her boss was wearing an identical set of rings. He didn't offer any explanation either.


	23. A Mystery Case

_Author's note: On the last chapter, Story Fan had noted that New Jersey has civil unions, which do offer some legal protections to same sex couples, and it would make sense for House and Wilson to have those protections. This story is set in late 2005 -early 2006, several months before civil unions were allowed in New Jersey. At the time of the story, I don't even think that most people knew that decision was on the horizon. So at that time, couples like House and Wilson would have been forced to spend lots of money, time and energy just to obtain legal documents to ensure some of the 1,138 federal rights and 300-600 state rights that are automatically conveyed when a man and a woman marry._

Chapter 23: A Mystery Case

Early March

"What the Hell were you thinking?"

Lisa Cuddy looked up at the man who had burst in unannounced, and for a moment, she could only stare at him with a bemused expression as she realized how much she had missed similar such events with Dr. House. She realized he was still yelling.

"…Is that damn deal so important? He's throwing up!"

She cut him off. "Sit down, Dr. Wilson, and tell me what's wrong."

He slumped down in one of the chairs in front of her desk.

Wilson's tirade was over, but he wasn't offering any explanations. Finally she ventured, "I know that lately House has had problems with heartburn and occasional bouts of nausea, but Barry said he wasn't too concerned." She'd even been present on one of those occasions. When he'd returned from retching in the bathroom, they'd both acted as if nothing had happened. She knew House wouldn't appreciate any words of sympathy.

Wilson sighed. "He's thrown up everything he's eaten in the last 48 hours. Last night, Barry put him on clear liquids and IV fluids in an attempt to stop the cycle of eating and then immediately throwing up. If all goes well, tonight he might try a can of Ensure, even if he does consider it old-people food."

She hadn't realized it had gotten so bad. "What can I do to help? Do you need time off?"

"Help? You can cancel the damn agreement! Tell him he doesn't need to treat any more patients!" He was yelling again.

"You know that the agreement was to keep him occupied while he was on bedrest. I would never hold him to it if it could endanger his health!"

"Fine, then assign Sheila Carstairs to someone else." He was calming down a bit.

"Who's that?" Cuddy was genuinely confused.

"You mean she isn't the relative of some donor?"

"Why would you think that?"

"She's been admitted to Diagnostics, but none of House's team had seen her file before they came back from lunch. When they arrived, the file was on the conference table with a post-it note that read, 'you have a new patient.' Cameron came to me because she was worried about House." Wilson slumped down in the chair as Cuddy looked on, completely at a loss.

"How is he, really?" she finally asked, knowing that she was asking him to break a confidence. "He always says that he's fine, but he certainly doesn't look fine."

Wilson's words were reluctant. "Barry's worried that he hasn't gained enough weight. He has no reserves for setbacks like this." He sighed. "It's not like he isn't trying. Ever since the third trimester began, it's been a fine line between eating enough and eating too much. But yesterday was the first time he threw up more than once in a single day. I'm worried about him. He's worn out. Most evenings he's asleep on the couch, and I pretend not to notice. He's tired, but he usually can't sleep through the night. He's up at least twice, because of either his leg or his back, or the need to go to the bathroom cause she's pressing on his bladder."

She looked over at the man in front of her desk and realized that the pregnancy was taking its toll on him as well. "Why don't you go back to work, and I'll take care of this. I'd like to find out how procedure was completely disregarded in my hospital, and I'm sure we can easily get the case reassigned to some other department, or have House's team handle it on their own.

He rose from the chair, more relaxed now that he had shared his burdens with someone else.

"I'll let you know when I have found anything out," she called out as the door swung closed.

* * *

An hour later he was back in her office, and he was immediately struck by how worried she looked. "What's wrong?"

"What do you know about Sheila Carstairs?"

"Nothing. Why?"

She picked up the folder from her desk and began reciting the relevant facts. "Sheila Carstairs, age 42. Third pregnancy; previous two pregnancies never made it past 16 weeks. Diagnosed with an incompetent cervix. She is currently at 21 weeks with appropriate care and bedrest, but last night she had 2 strokes. No family history, and her blood pressure is within normal range, but her kidneys are failing."

When she looked up from the file, her colleague was almost to the door. "Where are you going?"

"Diagnostics. Maybe I can catch them before they tell House."

"It's too late. He already knows." She sighed. "You need to know the rest. Sheila Carstairs didn't start out as one of our patients. This morning she was transported from Saint Catherine's in New York."

"What?! Why did Cameron let this happen? She's been handling any requests for consults—monitoring his email and any phone calls to his office."

"Because this case didn't come through normal channels. I talked to the floor nurse. She said that House called and made all the arrangements to have her admitted to Diagnostics." She looked over at Wilson, who was beginning to look slightly ill. "I talked to the patient. She said that her friend Gretchen got House to take the case."

"Gretchen-who?" asked Wilson, trying to remember if he knew anyone with that name, and drawing a complete blank.

"She didn't give me a last name. I got the impression they had never actually met in person. Maybe on the internet?" She paused, thinking. "_Gre_tchen, _Gre_g. The names are somewhat similar."

"You think that House pretended to be Gretchen…" He thought for a moment. It all fit. He remembered all of the times when he had found House typing away on the computer, but wouldn't ever let him see what he was doing. It all made sense, in a way. He set that aside, to concentrate on the problem at hand. "He can't take this case; there's no way he can be objective." He shook his head. "High risk pregnancy, when the sensible option would be to end it and save the mother's life." He sighed. "You know that this case is his way of controlling everything. If he saves her baby, then maybe our own kid will survive."

"He's already involved with this case. If I pull him from the case, it won't go over well." She sighed. "How bad is he? Will continuing on this case harm either him or the baby?"

He shrugged. "I just hoped he could recover for a few days before getting another patient. He really doesn't need any additional stress right now, but telling him flat out that he can't treat patients won't be any better."

She thought for a moment. "I'm assigning Barry to the case as well. For one thing, she'd be his patient if the case wasn't House's. I'll pull some strings to free up his schedule. I want him to see House twice a day until he's doing better and this case is over. If Barry thinks that this is compromising House's health or the baby's, I will put my foot down and get him pulled from the case. Hopefully Barry can be the voice of reason if House takes things too far."

TBC


	24. Sheila

_Author's note: You may notice that some of the details of this case have been borrowed from a case that was on the show. Normally, I wouldn't do this, but given that the story I am telling is House's story, I don't feel all that guilty. I hope you don't hold it against me._

Chapter 24: Sheila

The rest of the afternoon, Wilson was busy with patients, but he'd kept on eye on House's team. All day long he had seen them running around and performing a battery of tests on their patient. At 4 PM, he managed to swing by Diagnostics to check up on House and their patient. By that time, Barry had already returned from their apartment, and was cautiously optimistic that the IV fluids and clear liquids were doing their job. The team had also settled on a diagnosis: the problem was due to a clot that originated in the defective mitral valve in Sheila's heart. Wilson breathed a sigh of relief, in that it wasn't due to the pregnancy, and that they wouldn't need to abort the fetus. The procedure to fix her heart was scheduled to begin in less than an hour. He returned to work, finally able to fully concentrate on his own patients.

When Wilson entered the apartment, he found House sound asleep on the couch. Quietly he crept into the kitchen to begin dinner – chicken broth for House and the rest of the chicken and vegetables for himself. When dinner was ready, he went out to the living room. He reached down to brush his thumb across House's cheek. "Hey, you. Time for dinner." When Greg opened his eyes, he asked, "how are you feeling?"

House shrugged. "Haven't puked all day, but haven't drunk anything but ginger ale. And whatever crap they're pumping into me," he said, gesturing to the IV in his left arm. They sat on the couch eating (and drinking) their dinner while watching monster trucks.

Wilson looked down at the empty coffee cup that had contained the chicken broth. "Do you want any more?"

"No. Don't want to press my luck."

"Feel up to some chocolate Ensure?"

House only shook his head and lay back down on the couch.

"Why don't you go to bed. You look tired."

"After the IV's done. Barry said I could be unhooked for the night."

When the monster truck show was over, the IV was nearly finished, so Wilson removed the IV from the port, and made sure that the tubing was taped down, so that it would be fine overnight. One last trip to the bathroom, and then they went to bed. House was asleep almost instantly, even though it was barely past nine. Wilson was awake a little longer, worrying about House, and the toll this latest case was taking on him.

The next morning, Wilson reattached the IV line, and was pleased when House decided to stay in bed for a few more hours. Wilson's good mood was shattered when he passed the Diagnostics lounge on the way to his office. Barry and House's fellows were clearly in a heated argument, and as he entered, ostensibly to get his morning cup of coffee, he could see House on the videoconferencing screen, also a part of the discussion. He glanced at the whiteboard, where "Maternal MIRROR Syndrome" was scrawled across the top. As he poured his coffee, he could hear them listing possible causes, most of which would be fatal to the fetus. He tried to tune out their words as he stirred milk and sugar into his coffee, but then he heard House state, "The only way to get an MRI is to paralyze the baby."

Wilson looked over at Barry, who, surprisingly, was agreeing with the idea.

Barry stood. "I guess I'm the most qualified person to explain the risks to the patient."

When Barry exited the room, Wilson followed him. "Are you sure this is OK? Paralyzing the baby?"

Barry nodded. "It's only for a short time, and while it is somewhat risky, it really is the only way to diagnose what's wrong with the fetus." He sighed. "Chances are, whatever we find won't be treatable, but we'll cross that bridge when the time comes."

Wilson sighed. "You'll keep me posted, OK?" Then he went to his office, trying to pull himself together so he could concentrate on his own patients. By the afternoon, all that he had learned was that the baby had a urinary tract blockage, but that they were waiting to see how the baby's kidneys were functioning.

When Wilson arrived home, it was to find Barry and House on a teleconference call with the team. He was just in time to hear Cameron announce that the third bladder tap had come back normal, proving that the kidneys were OK, and that Sheila was being prepped for immediate surgery. At her words, everyone in the room visibly relaxed.

When the conference call was over, House turned over onto his back and hiked up his shirt so that Barry could begin his examination. He applied the ultrasound gel, and then began moving the wand across House's belly. Wilson watched in fascination as their daughter seemed to flinch and then began to roll away from the external pressure, a move that could be seen on the screen and the ripple across House's belly.

Barry was quietly muttering numbers under his breath as he moved to various spots across House's abdomen. He looked up, "amniotic fluid levels are fine, and the baby looks OK." He handed House some tissues to wipe the gunk off his belly, and then pulled out his stethoscope to listen to House's heart and lungs. He then proceeded to take a blood pressure reading. He frowned, and then took another reading on House's other arm. "Blood pressure's up a few points from the last reading. We'll need to keep a close eye on this."

House seemed to take no notice of Barry's words, and Wilson decided that making a fuss over it could only exacerbate the situation. He sighed and went out to the kitchen to prepare dinner. Tonight he heated up some organic beef broth he had purchased at the grocery store, wishing he had picked up the low sodium variety. For himself, he made a sandwich out of last night's chicken leftovers.

Tonight House seemed to have a little bit more of an appetite, drinking down 2 ½ mugs of the broth. He even decided to try the vanilla Ensure, but after one sip, he handed the mug back to Wilson, who took it back to the kitchen. It had been over 48 hours since House had thrown up, but he obviously wasn't ready for anything other than clear liquids. They stayed up until after 10 PM, watching several episodes of the L-word, laughing and making dumb jokes like they used to before life had become so damn scary.

The next morning, the phone rang at 5 AM. Wilson fumbled for the handset that was on his nightstand. "Yeah?" It was barely more than a grunt.

"Sheila's liver is failing." It was Chase, sounding way too awake for that time of the morning.

He looked over and saw that House was awake. He handed over the phone, making a mental note to kill House's team at the earliest opportunity. Might as well get ready for work. He headed into the shower as House and his team began discussing this newest unwanted development. When he was dressed, House had moved out to the living room, and they were still discussing the potential causes and the best way to biopsy her liver. Without missing a beat, House held out his left arm so Wilson could reconnect the IV. Before he left for work, Wilson reheated a cup of broth, setting the mug down on the coffee table with more force than was truly necessary.

Damn Sheila Carstairs and damn House's team for failing to recognize the limitations of House's body.

By the time he arrived at work, he was feeling more rational. It wasn't Chase's fault that the woman was critically ill, dying even. And Chase had an obligation to let House know, so that House could have enough time to try and come up with the miracle cure that would save her. Wilson just cursed the fates that had brought her into their lives when House's health was so precarious.

For a few hours, Wilson managed to forget about Sheila Carstairs, but when he had an unexpected break in his schedule, he found himself walking down to her room. "Hi. I'm Dr. Wilson."

He really wasn't sure what he was doing there, so he began flipping through her chart, while surreptitiously studying her. She looked younger than 42, and she was pretty in a way that reminded him of his first wife, except for the orange color that permeated her skin, a clear sign that her liver was failing fast. He found himself staring down at two words on the page—21 weeks. He sighed. The same gestational age when House had almost lost the baby back in December. He looked up from the paperwork and saw her hands spread protectively over her belly, as if that gesture could ward off what was to come.

She was looking at his name badge. "Do I have cancer?"

"No, not at all. I often work with House's team." He knew the answer sounded lame, and he really couldn't explain why he was here, so he went back to reading her chart. He saw that she had begun having contractions during the liver biopsy, and had been put on tocolytics to stop the contractions and corticosteriods to develop the baby's lungs, in case the contractions couldn't be stopped. "When was your last contraction?" he asked, desperately trying to look like he had a reason to be here.

"About two hours ago," she estimated.

He nodded, trying to look encouraging. "Good." He closed the chart and exited as quickly as he could, wondering if his impulsive trip had been a good idea. Now she was a person, and not just some name on a chart.

For the rest of the morning, Wilson tried to immerse himself in his work. For once, he was able to finish up his patient notes in between appointments, and he was actually running slightly ahead of schedule. When he found out his noon appointment had been rescheduled, he decided to go home for lunch.

When he walked into the living room, he found that he had inadvertently stumbled into a battle zone. As he listened to the argument playing out between House, Barry, and the members of House's team via teleconference, he pieced together what had happened. House and his team were convinced that the problem was with the baby's lungs, but it couldn't be seen because they were underdeveloped. So they had administered a second course of steroids, which had caused Sheila to have a pulmonary embolism, and she was currently on a ventilator. House was pushing for more steroids, and Barry was vehemently objecting, and some of House's team were beginning to agree with Barry.

As Wilson watched the monitor, Lisa Cuddy stormed into the diagnostics conference room, demanding to know what was going on, and the argument began anew.

Wilson escaped to the kitchen, where he tried to block out the sounds of the two men arguing in the living room. He tried to eat the egg salad sandwich he had prepared for lunch, but it tasted like cardboard and he could barely choke it down.

Finally the voices in the living room fell silent, but Wilson stayed in the kitchen, trying to sort out how he felt about House playing Russian roulette with this woman's life. There was only a miniscule chance that they could save the baby, and that in all probability, both the mother and baby would die in the next 48 hours. So many times in the past, he had been the voice of reason, pulling House away from doing something dangerous and crazy, but this time, he honestly didn't know what the right thing to do was anymore.

When he finally returned to the living room, he was surprised to find Barry sitting alone on the couch. "Where's House?"

"I sent him to lie down for a while."

"Why? What's wrong?"

"His blood pressure's 155 over 91. I know it's just a one time reading, but his BP has been trending up for the past two weeks. Even though it has only been two days since the last test, I am ordering another urinalysis to check for proteins."

"You think it's pre-eclampsia?" Wilson asked, feeling his stomach knot.

Barry shook his head. "It's probably just the stress of this case, but I can't ignore numbers like that. We've come too far to screw things up now. We only have 5 days to go until he's at 34 weeks, and I don't need to tell you how important it is to make it until then. If his BP isn't down by tonight, he's off the case."

Wilson nodded. "What can I do?"

"Get him to rest. He needs to relax and not put so much strain on his body. I know this case is personal, but I'll have no choice but to get him off the case if I feel that continuing to work is putting him at risk."

"I'll do what I can."

When Wilson walked into the bedroom, he could see House was curled up on the left side of the bed with his back to the center of the bed. The IV pole was pulled up next to the nightstand. Even though he was lying down, House looked far from relaxed.

House opened one eye. "So they sent you to convince me to change my mind."

"No," Wilson replied, sitting down on the other side of the bed.

"Why not?" House asked, sounding petulant.

"Do you think this is what she wants?"

"Yes."

"Is this the best chance to save her baby's life?"

"Yeah."

"Then that's all I need to know." Meanwhile, Wilson had removed his tie and toed off his loafers.

House was silent, pondering Wilson's words. Wilson lay down behind the older man, sliding over so that their bodies were almost touching. He reached out with his right hand to knead the whipcord muscles in House's neck and shoulders. Silently, he worked for a long time until he could finally feel House begin to relax. He moved closer until he could wrap his arm around the other man, his hand resting on House's belly. He smiled, feeling the movement under his fingers, and then he decided that there was no harm in closing his eyes for a moment.

When he opened his eyes, it was dark in the room. He slowly eased away from House, trying hard not to wake the older man, moving so he could see the alarm clock. 7 PM. Shit!

He started searching for his pager and cell phone, before he finally realized they were out in the kitchen. He practically sprinted out to the kitchen, and there, propped up beside them, was a piece of paper. He recognized the writing as Barry's. "I think you both need the rest. Johnson is covering your two procedures that couldn't be rescheduled. Take House's BP when he wakes up. –Barry"

Much relieved, Wilson began putting something together for dinner. When he took the food out to the living room, he found House checking in with his team. At least this time no one was yelling. While House was somewhat distracted, Wilson took his vitals. 148 over 87. Not great but certainly an improvement over this afternoon. The conversation was still going as Wilson handed Greg his dinner – a mug of chicken broth.

They sat side by side on the couch, eating their dinner just like old times. When House asked for a refill, Wilson took the mug out to the kitchen, refilled it, and put it in the microwave to heat. On an impulse, he filled up the kettle and put it on the stove. He reached up to the top shelf of the cupboard and took down the canister of hot chocolate.

He walked out to the living room with both mugs, handing one to House. They both drank in silence, until House noticed the mug in Wilson's hand. "What are you drinking," he asked, knowing that all forms of coffee had been banned from the house.

"Hot chocolate," Wilson admitted.

"I want some," House begged, doing a credible imitation of a three-year-old.

"I don't think empty calories are what Barry had in mind."

"Fine. Then gimme some of that chocolate crap that's in the fridge."

Wilson tried to hide his grin as he went to retrieve a can of Ensure from the ice box. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched as House slowly drank the entire can. "How are you feeling?"

"So far no puking," House stated the obvious.

"Ready for bed?" Wilson asked.

House rolled his eyes. "Come-on mom. I had a six hour nap. Can't I stay up with the adults?"

Wilson laughed. "Alright. But I'm going to bed at 11. I've got a department meeting at 7 AM."

"Well, whose fault is that? You're chair. Have it some other time!"

"I like mornings," Wilson protested, knowing it would always be something they would never agree upon.

They watched TV in silence, and when Wilson next looked over at House, he found the older man fast asleep on the couch. When the evening news came on, Wilson nudged him awake. "Time for bed."

"Just a few minutes more," House whined, but he was already getting up from the couch. By 11:15 they were both in bed, curled up together in their usual sleeping position. Five minutes later, they were both fast asleep.

At 5 AM, House got up to go to the bathroom for the second time that night. He also made a phone call. When he returned to bed, he reported, "no change so far. Still can't visualize the baby's lungs."

In the morning, Wilson silently crept out of the apartment, leaving House fast asleep in bed. The rest of the day was a rollercoaster of emotions. A surge of joy when Cameron reported that they could see lesions in the baby's lungs. He stood by as they made plans to remove the lesions while keeping the baby in utero. He decided to join the group of doctors observing the surgery, and it felt like his heart stopped when Sheila went into cardiac arrest, and it only started beating again when they shocked her heart back into action. The rest of the surgery was uneventful and they were able to successfully remove the lesions. Because the week had been filled with unsuccessful cures and false hopes, he waited around until they saw some concrete proof that Sheila was finally showing signs of improvement, and tests showed that the fetus had tolerated the surgery.

Wilson was smiling when he opened the door to the apartment, but his smile faded quickly. House was sitting, hunched over, his hands spread across his belly. "What's wrong?" The tightness in Wilson's stomach eased when House looked up, his expression not showing apprehension, but puzzlement.

"I can't figure out if she loved it or hated it."

Wilson finally realized that House was sitting in front of the piano. "What were you playing?"

"St. Louis Blues. I stared playing, and it was like she was playing soccer, kickboxing, and doing gymnastics all at the same time. She's finally stopped."

"Try it again." As House began to play, Wilson knelt down, wrapping his arms around House's waist, so his hands were splayed across House's belly.

"Wow, you weren't kidding." He was silent, thinking. "I think she's dancing."

"Yeah right."

"I'm serious. Barbara, the senior nurse on the oncology ward, insisted that her kid danced in utero. After he was born, any time he would hear music he would dance, even when he had just barely learned to walk. They finally gave in and enrolled him in drum lessons at the age of four. Kid had too much rhythm to not take advantage of it."

House seemed to be considering it. "Too bad you don't play an instrument. We could form a rock group."

"I do too! Of course a clarinet isn't too high on the coolness scale." At House's incredulous look, he shrugged. "What can I say? I was a band geek."

House laughed. Even after twelve years, there was still more to learn about Wilson.

As Wilson got off the floor, he realized that something was missing. "Where's the IV?"

House grinned. "Permanently disconnected, as long as I supplement meals with Ensure for a few days. I've been eating regular food all day."

"What do you want for dinner?"

House thought for a minute, at the almost unlimited possibilities now that solid food was an option. "Chicken broccoli casserole," he finally decided.

Wilson breathed a sigh of relief. At least House had picked something that they had all the ingredients for.


	25. A Taste of Freedom

_Author's note: Sorry it has been a while since I posted the last chapter. Real life has been a bit insane._

Chapter 25: A Taste of Freedom

The next day seemed endless, with only the occasional report from the team as lab results showed that Sheila was rapidly improving. She was off the vent and liver function tests confirmed that her liver was recovering. At lunchtime, Cameron came by with fruit and chicken salad, which they ate while watching soap operas. When she left, Cameron took a fraction of the file folders that had taken up semi-permanent residence in House's apartment.

Sunday was much the same, except that by the afternoon, Sheila was no longer their patient, having been transferred up to OB. All day long, all House could think about was the fact that tonight, for the first time in three months, he was going to leave the apartment.

Since he had come home from the hospital, there had been no reason to leave, due to a grand conspiracy of doctors making weekly (or more recently, daily) housecalls, a large misappropriation of the hospital's medical equipment, and the marvels of modern technology that allowed him to work from home. Of course, this taste of freedom wasn't without a price; it was necessitated by the need for tests which couldn't be done at home, followed by a meeting with his team of doctors to plan how they would deliver his daughter in two days time.

Wilson came home in time for dinner, which was leftovers from the previous night. They watched television until it was time to leave. It was almost eight when they arrived at the hospital, which left plenty of time for all of the tests before their 9 PM appointment for the MRI. Lisa was waiting at loading dock with a wheelchair, which House grudgingly sank into. A blanket was tucked around him to hide his unnatural bulk in case any hospital employees saw him. Then it was up to the OB clinic, where there was an ultrasound with much better capabilities than the portable ultrasound they had been using in House's living room.

By now, the procedure had become so familiar that House didn't even complain about the ultrasound gel. As Barry recorded images that would be reviewed by the whole team of doctors, House just looked at the screen. Everyday, she looked more like a real baby. She looked so peaceful in her watery world, and he knew she had no inkling what was in store for her, as everything would change in two days time.

All too soon they were done with the ultrasound, and it was time for the part he was dreading – the amniocentesis to confirm that her lungs were properly developed. As Barry used the ultrasound to hunt around for a pocket of amniotic fluid, House concentrated on keeping his breathing slow and even. The urge to bolt increased as Barry slid in the needle. There was something almost obscene about watching three inches of needle slide into the mound of his belly. Barry extracted a syringe of amniotic fluid, and then it was over. Wilson then moved in to swab House's arm with alcohol and then drew the blood for the type and crossmatch, and House wondered how many units of blood they planned on having on standby, and would it even be enough if things went horribly wrong?

When they were finally finished with the needles, it was time to head down to Radiology. House changed into a hospital gown, handing his clothes to Wilson who put them into a plastic bag. Then Barry and Wilson helped him onto the sliding table of the MRI. As he was sucked back into the machine, there was the usual feeling of claustrophobia, but this time, it was worse than usual. The tube seemed much smaller than before, but it was probably just because he was so much bigger these days. As the scan began, he closed his eyes and tried to pretend he was somewhere else.

"House. We've got a problem." It was Barry. "She's moving around too much to get clean images."

"You'd be pissed too if someone poked a needle at you," House grumbled. He thought for a moment. "Try some music."

Lisa flipped through the stack of CDs that were in the booth, finally finding something that House would like.

When he heard the beginning notes of Paint it Black, House immediately snapped, "not that! Something soothing," and then under his breath, "morons." There was silence for a minute before the second music selection began.

Oh god. He was in music hell. Enya. He was tempted to complain, but the music was having the desired effect. Great, now he'd be stuck listening to this crap every time he had a fussy baby. He rubbed his belly. Come on kiddo, calm down so we can get out of here.

Wilson and Cuddy exchanged smiles when they realized that House was talking to the baby, even if they couldn't quite make out his words. Finally he called out, "I think she's finally settled down."

Barry cleared the previous scan and restarted the machine. Immediately he could see that the scans were clearer. The three of them leaned back in the chairs and watched as the scans appeared on the screen.

When they were done, House changed back into his clothes and then slumped down in the wheelchair for the ride up to the eight floor conference room. When they entered the room, House was amused. Everyone had sorted themselves into groups –anesthesiologists in one corner, obstetricians and two surgical nurses on the other side. Chase was talking with the neonatologist and the nurse from the NICU.

Now that everyone was here, they all pulled up chairs around the table. The first few minutes were concerned with logistics – getting House into the hospital, and then clearing an OR so that only the select team of doctors and nurses would be present.

When the preliminaries were over, it was time for the anesthesiologists. Before Jason Morgan could begin, House interrupted, "I want a spinal."

Morgan was so nonplussed that he didn't even try and be tactful. "No way. That's impossible."

House was looking stubborn, and Jason hastily continued, "as you know, one consequence of a spinal is that it lowers the blood pressure. This is especially of concern here where there is a possibility of severe bleeding. We'd run the risk of loosing the airway, being unable to control your pressure, which puts you and the baby at risk."

When House tried to interrupt, Morgan continued, "I know you want to see your kid, but my job is make sure you wake up after surgery. Believe me, any anesthesiologist that would agree to a spinal isn't someone you'd want as a doctor, because they'd unnecessarily risk your life." His colleague was nodding in agreement.

House and the anesthesiologists were locked in a silent battle of wills, and all the other people in the room were trying to pretend that they weren't paying attention to the drama unfolding. For once, House was the first to look away. "OK" he mumbled.

Next up was the neonatal team, who were pouring over the ultrasound and MRI scans, taking measurements and going over possible complications of being delivered at thirty-four weeks. In the end, they could only conclude that she was small, but everything else looked normal.

When they were finished, it was time for Barry and Janet. Barry looked up from the stack of papers in front of him. "We've got a problem."

TBC

_Author's note: I happen to like Enya. I just think that House would hate her music._


	26. Visiting Hours

_Author's note: I meant to post this 8 hours ago, so I wouldn't keep you hanging, but fanfiction was having one of its little fits. Also, Enya should appreciate all of the messages of support from readers of this story. _

Chapter 26: Visiting Hours

As Barry summarized all of the results and his recommendations, all eyes were fixed on House, waiting for the next explosion. There was silence, until he finally replied. "Fine." Then everyone in the room visibly relaxed.

House gripped the armrests of the wheelchair and used them to push himself upright. He was leaning over to grab his cane from the conference table, when Wilson asked, "House? What are you doing?"

"Gotta pee," he announced to the whole room.

"Well, you aren't going to walk down to the other end of the hall," Lisa declared. "Sit down. I'll push."

Knowing every doctor in the room would back her up, House slumped back down in the chair, and Lisa laid the cane across his lap. She deftly turned the chair and maneuvered it through the door. When they reached the door of the men's room, she set the brakes and then helped him out of the chair. She ignored his glare. "You're on your own from here."

When he had finished, she helped him settle back into the chair. They were both silent as they made their way down the hall. She was about to turn right when he suddenly ordered, "go left."

She mentally shrugged and silently followed his orders. When they reached the nurse's station, he gestured for her to stop.

"What room is Sheila Carstairs in?" he barked at the nurse behind the counter.

"I'm sorry, sir, but visiting hours are over. You'll have to come back tomorrow," she replied, not even bothering to look up from her paperwork.

"So, have they taken away my privileges as well as my freedom?" he snarled.

The nurse looked up to find the Dean of Medicine glaring at her. "Please tell Dr. House what room his patient is in."

The woman's eyes widened. "8372. It's five doors down on the right," she supplied with belated helpfulness.

Lisa pivoted the wheelchair and followed the nurse's directions. They were almost at the door when he signaled for her to stop. "After you drop me off, why don't you go back to the meeting."

"You don't want to go with me?" she asked, genuinely surprised.

"Why? To hear how they plan to cut me open? It's not like they'll listen to me anyway." His voice was tinged with bitterness.

"Ok," she softly replied. She pushed open the door and then they were inside. "Hi, Sheila. I wanted to introduce you to Dr. House."

Sheila looked at the man slumped in the wheelchair. This was the man who had been responsible for saving her life? He didn't even look like a doctor—she would have sworn he was a patient. The whole situation made no sense. He'd never even bothered to see her when he was treating her, sending his team to do the dirty work. But now he came to visit after she had been transferred to OB? Belatedly she tried to thank him for saving her life, but he waved her off, obviously uncomfortable with her gratitude.

"So, how are you feeling?" he finally asked.

"Still sore from the surgery, but better. It's nice to be back to a high risk pregnancy, rather than an imminent death sentence."

Cuddy had watched the somewhat awkward exchange, feeling like she was intruding. She looked away, and her eyes fell on the other bed in the room, "Is this occupied?" she asked.

Sheila shook her head. "Nope. When you came in, I thought that maybe I was getting a roommate."

Lisa looked down at the wheelchair's occupant. "You've been sitting up for too long already. Why don't you lay down for a bit? I will have housekeeping make up the bed again when you're through with it."

Sheila watched in amazement as her former doctor was tucked into bed like a four year old. The Dean of Medicine even leaned down to remove his shoes for him. Everything about this visit seemed strange. She'd heard the nurses gossiping, and at least one had referred to him as The Limping Bastard. She'd also heard that he had cancer, but he didn't look like someone undergoing chemotherapy. Mainly he looked tired and sad. When Dr. Cuddy left, she finally asked, "Dr. House, are you all right?"

There was no mistaking the bitterness in his answer. "Nothing time won't fix."

The ensuing silence seemed oppressive. House sighed. It had been so much easier communicating when it had been words on a computer screen. As he tried to think of something to say, he thought back to the first time she had posted on the discussion board.

He'd been having a particularly lousy day. Foreman had just left to go back to the hospital, when he'd been surprised by the nausea he'd later come to expect after eating. He didn't quite make it to the toilet before retching, and he'd decided to take a shower to get rid of the stench. When he had finally felt clean, he had wrapped a towel around his waist and had limped into the bedroom to dig up some fresh clothes. As he came around the corner, he'd caught a glimpse of himself in the full-length mirror Wilson had insisted on mounting on the inside of the closet door. As a rule, he generally avoided looking in mirrors, but this time, something had made him take a good, hard look. He started at the top – face haggard and pale from months spent indoors. His upper body was usually somewhat toned from the extra work caused by using his cane, but his arms looked skinny and he could see every bump on his sternum, like some anorexic supermodel. All a result of months of minimal use. He dropped the towel, so he could look at his body. All he could think of was the starving children in Africa, their bodies grotesquely bloated from eating grass. And finally, there was the usual train wreck that was his right thigh. He'd turned away in disgust.

When he'd logged onto the discussion board, a new member had posted and he could still remember her words: _My body has become alien to me. I look down and I don't recognize myself anymore. Some days, I am convinced that I will never survive this pregnancy. I want this baby with every fiber of my being, and if I lose it, it may well kill me, but some days, I am so angry that my life has been reduced to this one room. Locked away while everyone else's life continues outside these walls._

He'd read her post, shocked to see his own thoughts already written down. He'd immediately started typing a reply, and their on-line friendship had begun.

As he tried to find a comfortable position on the unfamiliar hospital bed, he found himself asking, "Do you still resent the baby?"

"What?! Why would you ask that? Why would you even think it?! I don't resent the baby. I risked my life to continue this pregnancy!"

"But to not be able to see your dying father. Go to his funeral. Your job. Derrick. Everything."

"How do you know about all of that?"

He realized he might have made a mistake. "From Dr. Cameron," he supplied, hoping that his underling had stayed true to form.

"I never told her all of that. The only person who I told that to was Gretchen, and she would never tell anyone." She remembered the nurses' opinion of Dr. House, and she looked at him with growing revulsion. "You jerk. Those emails were personal! You had no right to read them. What kind of sick bastard reads other people's private email!"

"I didn't." He could see that she was getting upset, which wasn't good for someone in her condition. To stop the storm of invective, he snapped, "I read those emails because I'm Gretchen."

If he thought that would calm her down, he was mistaken. "What! So you enjoy pretending to be someone you're not, just to get people to pour their hearts out to you? What kind of person does that? I'm not sure what's worse…"

"Look at me!" he interrupted, and there was a thread of desperation in his voice that caught her attention. He threw down the covers, and yanked up the bulky sweatshirt. "Now do you see why?"

She saw the desperate plea in his eyes, but she was still confused. "So, you're overweight, like most Americans."

He looked around, trying to find a way to make her understand. Because they were in the high risk antepartum ward, there was a fetal monitor next to every bed. He turned it on and moved the sensor over his belly until he found the heartbeat. With his left hand holding the sensor in place, he used his right to turn the monitor so that Sheila could see the numbers dancing across the screen.

When he finally spoke, his voice was calm. "The only things I lied about were my name and my age, but hey, lying about your age is practically a national pastime, right? Everything else is true." He sighed. "It's not like I had a choice. Who'd believe that a 47 year old man was pregnant?" He let the sensor fall away, and he turned off the monitor. He pulled up the blanket and waited for her response.

Sheila was thinking hard. It was difficult to reconcile the two people: Gretchen – her online friend, who had always been able to understand her hurt and anger, because she was just as scared and frustrated, and Dr. House – the brilliant, sarcastic doctor who had saved her life. When Sheila spoke, it was with a calm acceptance of a bizarre situation. "At least you don't have much longer to go. You're almost at 34 weeks."

He sighed, and then decided to share Barry's devastating news. "They were supposed to deliver her in," he looked up at the clock, "46 hours and 27 minutes," he said bitterly.

"'Supposed to'? What's wrong? What's changed?" she asked, concerned for her friend.

"The results of the amnio came back. Her lungs aren't fully developed. So he wants to wait another week to minimize the risk of her having chronic medical problems."

He was silent for a long time, before he finally admitted, "I don't want to do this anymore."

She had to strain to hear his halting words. "I'm sick of the nausea and the vomiting, and the pain that never goes away. I'm sick of laying on my couch and never leaving my apartment. Hell, clinic duty is starting to look appealing. But mostly, I'm sick of knowing something could go horribly wrong at any moment. When he told me that it would be another week, part of me didn't care about hurting her. I just wanted it to be over." He waited for her condemnation, but it never came.

"It's OK to feel that way, you know. You've had a hard time, even worse than most people have on bedrest. You think it's selfish to want it to be over?" She waited until he nodded. "It only makes you human. If you were selfish, you wouldn't have continued the pregnancy. You knew what you were getting into, right?"

There was no humor in his laughter. "I didn't think it would be this bad."

She grimaced. "No one ever does." She thought for a minute. "Everyone always says that pregnancy is a time to be enjoyed and treasured. Those people either had easy pregnancies, or forgot how miserable pregnancy can be sometimes. You have every right to be upset that it isn't going to be over in two days." She looked over and saw that he was looking more relaxed. "Are you going to go the extra week?" she asked.

"Yeah," he grudgingly replied. "At this stage, even a couple of days can cut a week off of a NICU stay, let alone decreasing the chances of respiratory problems later in life."

"How will you do it? Another week, I mean?"

"Same as usual, I guess. Hopefully the team will find another patient, but I think the order's gone out: no more cases."

"Why?"

"Stress, plus patients have a tendency to have problems at inconvenient times, like when I'm supposed to be resting. I guess if I get really desperate, there's always internet porn."

Sheila laughed. "You're tough. You'll find something."

* * *

When Wilson entered the room a few hours later, he wasn't sure what he expected to find. It certainly wasn't finding them both having a midnight snack of fruit and pudding cups while discussing what was the worst naval base to live on when growing up. When Wilson attempted to steal a grape, House batted his hand away.

"Patients only."

"You haven't been admitted," Wilson protested.

"Fine. Only people eating for two."

Wilson was shocked by the casual reference to the pregnancy, and he glanced over at the occupant of the other bed, who was laughing at their antics. Guess that question was answered. "Will you hurry up then? It's after midnight, and you should be getting to bed soon." He turned to maneuver the wheelchair next to the bed, while House awkwardly sat up and swung his legs over the side. Wilson finally located House's running shoes under the bed, and he stooped down to help House get them on his feet.

Sheila had been watching their progress. "So, you two are a couple, right?"

Wilson looked up from tying House's shoelaces, looking like a deer caught in headlights. It was the first time he'd been confronted by someone who didn't already know. "Yeah? How'd you guess?" he asked, wondering if something about them screamed 'gay'.

"Uhm… matching double platinum rings? Kind of a dead giveaway. When I saw Greg's rings, I knew I'd seen someone wearing an identical set, but I couldn't remember who was wearing them." She laughed. "You only came in that one time, and I wasn't exactly very with it at the time."

"Yeah. Glad that you are doing better," he replied.

He helped House down from the bed and into the waiting wheelchair.

She didn't ask any more questions, and Wilson wondered what they had found to talk about all this time.

"Hey, Greg, feel free to give me a call if you're bored out of your mind." She watched as he nodded agreement. "Let me know when the baby's born, OK?"

"That will be Wilson's job. I plan to be enjoying the pleasures of IV painkillers."

She laughed. "It's something to look forward to." She watched as they exited the room.

They slowly made their way down the almost deserted corridors, Wilson pushing the wheelchair. As they passed the nurses station, a falsely cheerful voice called out after them, "have a nice night Dr. House."

House was laughing, and Wilson quickly maneuvered the wheelchair into the elevator. "What was that about?"

"Cuddy can be a scary person," House replied, refusing to elaborate further.


	27. A Visit from an Old Friend

Chapter 27: A Visit from an Old Friend

The next morning, Stacy and Mark stood in the hallway, looking at the lone occupant in the diagnostics conference room. The glass table was covered in paperwork, but the white board was empty and moved off to one side.

Dr. Cameron glanced up when the door opened. "Mark. Stacy. What a surprise! Who's this?" she asked, looking down into the stroller.

"This is Kyle, our son," Stacy introduced, and the next few minutes were occupied with the baby. "So where's House? We were hoping to catch him before he went to lunch." Stacy couldn't help but notice the look of apprehension that crossed the younger woman's face.

"He's not here today," she finally answered.

"Is everything all right?"

"Fine." The reply came almost too quickly. "He had something he needed to do at home today, and we don't currently have a patient."

"Oh, well. It was good to see you again, Allison."

As they walked out of the hospital, she decided to give House a call, knowing he often ignored his home phone when it rang. To her surprise, he answered almost immediately. "Hi, Greg, it's Stacy. Mark, Kyle and I were in town for a doctor's appointment and we hoped to see you. Cameron said that you were stuck at home, so I thought that if you were free, we could drop by with lunch."

There was a long pause, that with anyone else would be interpreted as someone searching for a polite way to refuse. Given that House didn't do 'polite', she again wondered what was going on. "Sure, why not." He didn't sound very enthusiastic, but House wasn't one to do something he didn't want to do.

"So what should I get for you at the deli? The usual?"

"No. Get me a turkey on wheat. No mustard or pickles. Easy on the mayo." This from a man who insisted that bread only came in one color? They talked for a few minutes and Mark and Stacy arrived at the deli located two blocks from House's apartment. As they approached House's place, she kept remembering the last time they had seen him, and how thin and ill he had looked. When she had talked to James since then, the only thing he had said was that House was better.

When he opened the door, she knew that Wilson hadn't told the truth. Even though it had been less than six months since she had last seen him, House looked almost ten years older. His hair had more gray in it, and there were new lines of pain etched into his face. His eyes looked tired, but he looked happy enough to see them, and he smiled down at Kyle, a rare display from someone who rarely showed emotion.

As Mark carried Kyle into the bedroom, still asleep in his car seat, Stacy watched House limp across the room, leaning heavily on his cane. She couldn't help but notice how slowly he was moving, not even bothering to hide the pain. All at once she knew she was seeing her own worst nightmare. Her fears were only confirmed as she spotted the medical equipment scattered around the room, as well as the whiteboard and the stack of medical files on the coffee table. Clearly, today was not an isolated incident; he obviously had been working from home for weeks, if not months. She watched in amazement as Greg allowed her husband to help him ease down onto the couch. As he moved, she could see that he had gained weight, even though none of it had gone to his face, where his cheekbones pressed against his skin. She sank into one of the chairs, trying to pretend that everything wasn't horribly wrong.

They'd just gotten settled when House's cell phone rang. He looked at the readout, and then sighed. "Sorry. I have to take this."

She nodded and he answered the phone.

"Hi Mom. Everything's set. Wilson will pick you up at baggage claim at 7 PM." He paused, listening. "It's no problem. Look, Barry's decided to push back the surgery a week." There was another pause. "No, its good that you're coming now. Barry isn't comfortable with me being home alone for long periods of time, and Wilson's trying to save as much leave for after, and I can only take my team visiting for a few hours at most. So it's either you guys or being admitted." He rolled his eyes. "Yeah. I'll see you tonight." He hung up without saying goodbye. He looked over at Mark. "So, you finally ditched the cane."

Mark was about to answer when Stacy interrupted. "You're going to make small talk?!"

House looked confused. "Isn't that the socially acceptable way to entertain guests?"

But Stacy wasn't to be deterred. "Jesus, Greg! You look terrible, you can barely walk, and it's clear you haven't been able to go to work in weeks!"

"I'm fine," was his flat reply.

"For once in your life, can't you admit there's something wrong!"

"Everything will be fine once the baby is born. I'll get my vicodin back, I won't be confined to the damn couch, and I'll finally be able to eat without wanting to puke."

"What does a baby have to do with the fact that you're sick?" Stacy asked.

"Wilson didn't tell you?" She shook her head. "Cuddy?" No. Great, now he'd have to explain it. "I'm pregnant." Stacy and Mark were looking at him like he'd lost his mind. After months of being around people who already knew, it was easy to forget how bizarre the whole situation really is. He sighed. "Back in august, I had this odd conversation with a chick I knew had died the week before. I figured it was a weird dream or a strange hallucination and I didn't think that much about it. Then I got sick—nausea, vomiting, fatigue, and it never got any better. Even the blood tests pointed to testicular cancer, but the ultrasound and biopsy were clean." He reached over to pick up the thickest file sitting on the coffee table. "This is what we found in my abdomen."

Stacy squinted at the ultrasound picture, still not willing to believe it was a baby. "It's a tumor, isn't it."

House rolled his eyes. "To quote the boy-wonder oncologist, 'a tumor doesn't have a heartbeat'." He pulled out another photograph from the file. "This was taken last night. Gestational age: 33 weeks, 5 days."

Stacy looked down at the 3D ultrasound, which looked like a grainy, monochromatic picture of a baby. She had to admit it even kind of looked like Greg. She'd seen him play some elaborate pranks, but this took the cake. "So you spontaneously grew a uterus after talking to a dead girl?" she asked, playing along with the joke.

He didn't smile back. "I wish. Maybe if I'd had a uterus, I wouldn't have nearly lost the baby back in December. I certainly wouldn't have been on bedrest for the last thirteen weeks. Turns out a uterus isn't required to carry a baby, just highly recommended," he said bitterly.

She finally realized he was serious. "How is it possible?"

He shrugged. "Getting pregnant—who knows? Carrying the baby, all that's needed is a blood supply. The placenta has fused to the major organs in my abdomen. Essentially, it's an ectopic pregnancy. Making it this far is a good sign."

"Ectopic… I thought ectopic pregnancies were terminated as soon as they're discovered."

"Depends on the placement of the fetus. There have been documented cases of abdominal pregnancies being allowed to continue. Delivery is typically at 34 weeks. Too much later and the risk of placential abruption gets too high. The only reason why we're waiting another week is that tests have shown that her lungs are underdeveloped."

Mark saw the sadness in House's eyes, and tried to change the subject. "So, any weird cravings?"

House grinned. "No, just a whole list of things that would set off a new round of retching. Does anyone ever crave pickles and ice cream?"

Stacy laughed. "No one I ever met!"

Mark chimed in. "God, I wish it was pickles and ice cream. At least the grocery store is open until midnight. No, she had to crave bruschetta from Mario's, usually ten minutes before they were about to close. Luckily, the chef took pity on me a few times."

"Bruschetta? But you hate raw tomatoes!"

Stacy laughed. "Cravings usually don't make sense. So what things set off the nausea?"

"Coffee was one of the worst, where even the smell of it would set me of. And any form of seafood. Then there was booze and cauliflower. At least those were easy enough to avoid. I thought that Cameron's morning coffee would be the death of me."

She was mentally counting back. "So, is that why you looked like death warmed over when you came to visit?"

"Yeah, two months of puking. I had lost nine pounds by that point."

"Greg! That couldn't have been good for the baby."

"Like I could have _known_ I was pregnant. I may be a diagnostician, but even I don't think that far outside the box."

"So what did you think was wrong?" asked Mark. "You must have had some theory?"

"Parasite. Of course, I wasn't wrong in the strictest definition of the word."

As they were talking, Stacy had been laying out the food from the deli. House looked at his sandwich with distaste. "God, I can't wait until I can eat like a normal human being again. I'm so sick of having to watch everything I eat!

Stacy laughed. "I remember the feeling, but what no one tells you is that when you breastfeed, you still have to watch what you eat, even if it isn't nearly as restrictive."

"Luckily for me, no breastfeeding."

"But it's so much better for the baby," Mark protested, earning a glare from House.

"Do I _look_ like I am going to breastfeed anytime soon?" he asked, gesturing to his flat chest. "I may have gotten a baby, but it didn't come with a uterus or mammary glands. Like most men, I only have nipples for fun."

As they ate lunch, House described how he'd been working from home for the last few months, and Mark and Stacy talked about their son and the challenges of parenthood.

As she was gathering up all of the sandwich wrappers and the plastic containers, Stacy decided to have a little fun. "So, have you tried belly cream?" She then proceeded to rattle off her favorite brand.

House snorted. "Like I want to smell like fruit salad. Hell no."

Stacy was giggling. "So you _have_ tried it!"

House rolled his eyes. "Wilson found some that smells like suntan lotion, which is way better than that crap. Hell, I could care less about stretch marks, but these days, having Wilson rub my belly is the closest thing to sex I can get."

Now Mark was grinning as well. It was at that moment that Wilson walked in the door. He was relieved to hear the laughter from the occupants of the living room.

House looked up. "What are you doing home so early?"

"I was running ahead of schedule all day, and then they canceled the meeting because three people were out of town. I escaped before anyone could find something I had to do." He looked around at Stacy and Mark. "So, did you bring Kyle?"

"He's in the bedroom, fast asleep in his car seat," Stacy replied.

They both went down the hall so Wilson could see her son for the first time. As he knelt down to inspect the baby, Stacy was looking around the room in confusion. Everything was as she remembered it, with the addition of a few of Wilson's things here and there. "So where are you stashing the stuff for the baby?" she finally asked.

"What stuff?"

"The usual—clothes, crib, car seat." Wilson didn't answer, so she continued, "changing table, diapers? The basics for managing a baby."

He sat down on the edge of the bed, and she joined him. "We don't have anything. Not until we know she's OK."

"They won't let you take her home without a car seat."

"She'll be in the NICU for at least 2 days detoxing from House's pain meds, but she'll probably be there longer. Average stay at 35 weeks is about a week and a half. We'll have time to figure everything out." He sighed. "I think we're afraid we'll jinx everything if we assume everything will be OK. So, no baby stuff until after she's born."

"Is it really that bad?" she asked.

He nodded. "Things could go wrong at any moment. The fact that we are planning when and how to deliver the baby is a minor miracle. No one expected them to make it this far." He thought of last night's meeting, as the doctors had meticulously planned the surgery and discussed the possible complications. "The surgery itself is scary. If all goes well, they will cut him open and remove the baby, leaving the placenta intact inside him. Then, in the coming months, it will eventually be absorbed by his body, but for the next six months or so, there is a chance he could start bleeding."

"Why don't they just remove it? Wouldn't that be safer?"

"No. The placenta has had to attach to the veins and arteries supplying his organs. To remove the placenta, they would need to sever all of those points of connection, and there's a chance of massive bleeding. So, leaving the placenta in is the best bet, even if it means living under the Sword of Damocles for a little while longer."

She put her arm around him. "Is there anything I can do?"

"Pray." He shrugged. "Think of something to keep him occupied for a week? Barry doesn't want him taking any more cases."

"Why?"

"Too much stress, too little sleep. His blood pressure is borderline."

"Maybe he could play video games with his parents?"

He looked at her incredulously. "Are you kidding? I've seen him turn Super Mario Brothers into a full contact sport. What did you do when you were on bedrest?"

"I learned to knit."

Wilson laughed at the mental image of Greg knitting a baby sweater. "Can you imagine? He'd probably stab someone with a needle."

She thought for a minute. "How about cards? I know poker isn't quite the same without the beer and pretzels, but desperate times…."

He nodded, and finished, "… call for desperate measures. Maybe that would work."

The headed back into the living room, and after Mark and Stacy had left, Wilson began making phone calls.


	28. Distractions

_Author's note: Thank you to everyone who has read or reviewed. I'm sorry that it has been a while since I updated. Life has been crazy. (More than usual)_

Chapter 28: Distractions

After dinner that night, Wilson left to pick up House's parents from the airport. House stretched out on the couch, and within minutes, was fast asleep. He jerked awake when the front door slammed shut. He looked around in confusion, and then saw his parents. "Hey, Mom."

"Greg!" She leaned down to kiss him, and lingered to rub his belly. "I can't believe how big she's gotten."

He glared at his father, who was trying not to laugh at the sight of his wife rubbing her son's belly, while Greg was looking extremely uncomfortable. "Not big enough," he grumbled.

"How is she?" his mother asked.

"Active." He frowned. "Currently enjoying elbowing my bladder." He struggled to sit up, and then Wilson helped him off the couch. When had he become grateful for assistance? Months ago, even when his leg had him practically screaming in agony, he would never accept any help. He sighed. Probably when it became impossible to bend at the waist.

When House returned from the bathroom, Wilson was telling John about tomorrow's poker game. House knew it was a ploy to keep him from being bored, but he was looking forward to showing Wilson who was the true poker champion. The younger man had been horrible cocky since he had won the charity poker tournament at the hospital. He was wondering if he was going to be forced to relax the No Girls rule, but then he heard Wilson explain that Cameron was going to pick up Blythe for some shopping. Oh hell.

His parents stayed for only a few minutes more, and then they were off to spend the night at Wilson's old apartment. In the morning, they were back and Blythe cooked breakfast for everyone. House's team showed up promptly at 2 PM. Even though it was Tuesday, no one was scheduled to work, because they had all planned to be free on the day the baby was supposed to be delivered.

As the girls set out to do some shopping, the guys gathered around the coffee table, which was cleared of all files and medical equipment, and now held several decks of cards, stacks of poker chips, and bowls holding the customary chips and pretzels. There were also plates of sliced apples and veggies. There was no beer or cigars, but no one seemed to mind. For a long time, there was no clear winner, as the piles of chips seemed to oscillate back and forth between the players, but then the pile in front of Eric Foreman began to dwindle. In a last ditch effort to stay in the game, he went all in, but was beaten by House, who had three aces.

Wilson was the next to go, having misread House's bluff. By that time, the girls had returned from their shopping trip. Wilson watched the play for a while, before he headed out to the kitchen to help Blythe and Cameron prepare something to eat.

At 6 PM, they took a break for dinner, everyone finding a place to sit in the living room. After the dishes had been cleared, the game resumed. The bets went higher as the competition intensified and the trashtalk escalated. House stared at his cards: decent, but not great. He looked at his father and Chase. He threw in more chips and then watched as his father folded. Chase covered the bet, and then raised. Hmm… was he bluffing? House tossed in the last of his chips. Chase grinned and laid down his cards. Damn. House threw in his cards in defeat.

He settled back into the couch to watch the battle between his father and Chase. The play continued for almost an hour, as the two players tried to find the other's weaknesses. Finally, Chase moved in for the kill. He laid down his cards, and John admitted defeat. House looked up, and realized that it was past 9 PM. The day was almost gone. Wilson and Blythe went into the kitchen and returned with bowls of ice cream. As they ate, they were discussing plans for the next day. Chase and Foreman were both scheduled to work, but Cameron was off. House was again reconsidering the No Girls rule for poker night, when she suggested bridge. House knew his parents often played at the Officer's Club, and he used to play when he was in college. He quickly agreed when he saw that his parents were willing.

So most of Wednesday passed with the four of them playing cards. They teamed up with House and Cameron versus his parents. Surprisingly, Cameron was a skilled player, and after House got back into the swing of things, the game was surprisingly close. Much to House's chagrin, he and Cameron lost, even though it had been a close match all along, and if it hadn't been for one particularly bad hand, they probably would have won.

Thursday March 14th.

On Thursday, everyone was scheduled to work, so it was House and his parents hanging out in the living room watching two days of TIVO'ed soap operas. Surprisingly, John didn't comment on his son's choice of viewing material. After watching the evening news, they were watching Jeopardy, with the three of them shouting out answers to the questions. They were waiting for Wilson to come home before having dinner.

They had just all failed at deciphering the final Jeopardy clue, when House had to go to the bathroom for what felt like the millionth time that day. Like always, his dad was there to help him off of the couch. He was almost upright when the pain knifed through his left side. Instinctively, his body curled, trying to relieve the unrelenting pain.

"Greg? What's wrong?"

He found himself being held upright by his father, his face pressed into his father's chest. The cotton of John's tee shirt was soft, and oddly comforting, and House managed to sound reasonably calm when he stated, "we need to get to the hospital. Now."


	29. How to Get Out of a Meeting

_Author's note: Wow. 200 reviews. __ I never thought one of my stories would reach that milestone. In fact, when I started this story, I was worried that no one would review because it was mpreg. I guess I was wrong about that._

_Once again, I need to acknowledge JulieandJulia as the 200th reviewer. (Is it luck or skill? JulieandJulia must be one of those people that can manage to call into a radio station and be lucky caller 12, where the rest of us get busy signals) Thank you to everyone who has taken the time to read and review. So, I would like to recognize everyone who has reviewed so far: BertieTiger, Blackbirdox, cathepsut, Cleavage Queen, DJSteele, elizajay, hilson, House Fan, H&W forever, i luv ewansmile, JulieandJulia, Kirai-Ninja, Lady Makbeth, LoriB, Lylaa, maybe not today, micetea, molly, oceanclover15, PerLuminisPropinquus, Rhastahippy, run-for-your-life-hikari, sandboxboy, Shota-Hunter, Skyblue Advari, slashfan54, Story Fan, TombeDeLaLune. I hope I got everyone! I really appreciate anyone that has taken the time to write a review.  
_

_So, this is the penultimate chapter. I am sort of sad to think that there is only one more chapter after this. Enjoy._

Chapter 29: How to Get Out of a Meeting

The board of directors only met once a month, but it always seemed to come around more often. To accommodate everyone's schedules, the meeting was held at 7 PM on the second Thursday of every month. Lisa sank back in her chair, only half listening as two of her department heads were arguing over the proposed budget. She sighed. Already an hour and a half into the meeting and there was still two items left on the agenda. From the corner of her eye, she saw James Wilson reach into the pocket of his labcoat and pull out his pager. As soon as he read the display, all of the blood seemed to drain from his face. Her worst fears were confirmed when he passed the pager to Barry Coleman, who was sitting to his right.

Both men were rising from their seats when she looked down at the agenda in front of her. Suddenly the last two items didn't seem so important. Dr. Mueller was drawing breath to continue his monologue when she interrupted him. "Thank you all for your input. It's late, so why don't we continue this discussion next month." Before anyone could protest, she adjourned the meeting and joined James and Barry in the hallway.

Wilson was obviously on the phone with House's mother, while Barry had started making calls to assemble the team of surgeons, techs, nurses, anesthesiologists, and neonatologists. Without a word, Wilson handed her a notecard, and she started dialing the number of Robert Chase, who was going to assist the neonatal team. Fortunately, all three of House's fellows were eating dinner at a nearby restaurant. That eliminated the need for another call to Dr. Cameron, who had agreed to assist with collecting the cord blood, a procedure that Wilson, ever the oncologist, had insisted upon. She moved down the list to call Wilson's mother.

When all of the calls had been made, they hurried down to the loading dock, where they were to meet House and his parents. The plan called for sneaking inside, going through the kitchen and into a nearby trauma room. Barry was now on the phone with House's mother, getting vitals and other information. She turned to Wilson. "What happened?"

"Nothing traumatic. He didn't fall or anything. He just felt something tear inside." He shrugged miserably. "Maybe we shouldn't have tried to go for another week."

She shook her head. "Don't second guess it. You know how important every extra day can be at this stage." She reached into her pocket, and felt the envelope she had been carrying around for almost a month, ever since the afternoon when she'd found House writing letters to his daughter. She'd caught only a glimpse of the words scrawled across the envelopes – '16th birthday', 'high school graduation'. She'd had to fight hard to keep back the tears when she realized the implication of those letters.

The envelope in her pocket was slightly crumpled from being carried so long, but the words 'Her Name' were clearly visible. "House wanted you to open this after she's born."

He glanced at the front, and then without a word, stuffed it in his pocket. She tried to think of something to say that wasn't stupid or cliched. In the end, she was saved by the arrival of House and his parents. They loaded House into a wheelchair and then they took a detour past lecture halls that were deserted, and then a quick trip through the kitchen. They took a left turn and then were in the back of the ER. The cubicle was already curtained off and already contained most of the people in charge of House's care.

Everyone stood back as Barry performed a quick examination. He looked, up. "I don't think the bleed is as bad as we had last December, but I think it's time to end this. There's a real possibility that things could go south in a heartbeat."

They all watched until House finally nodded. Then there was a flurry of activity as they prepared to transport him to the OR, and others left to make sure everything was ready. This time Wilson scrubbed in with the other doctors, so he could be there to see his daughter born, and assist if the need arose. When he got to the OR, he could see that they were almost ready to begin. He looked down at the man he had loved for so many years, and he tried to think of something to say that wouldn't sound stupid or show House just how scared he was.

House looked up; he would recognize those brown eyes anywhere, even without the fear that Wilson was trying unsuccessfully to hide. "Hey." He watched the corners of Wilson's eyes crinkle as he tried to smile behind the mask. "I need you to do me a favor." He waited until Wilson nodded. "I want you to go with her when they take her up to the NICU." Wilson started to protest, but House cut him off. "I don't want her to be alone." There was another reason; he didn't want Wilson there if he ended up bleeding out on the table. He held Wilson's eyes, until the younger man finally nodded. "I love you." It was something he wouldn't usually say with anyone else around, but he needed to say it one last time.

Wilson leaned down to kiss him, and then whispered, "I love you, too. I'll see you when this is over."

"OK people, we're ready to begin." It was one of the anesthesiologists, but House was having trouble figuring out which one. He watched as Wilson moved out of his field of vision, and then everything went black as the drugs hit his bloodstream.

* * *

When the fog cleared, he was staring down into his own abdominal cavity. What was even more disturbing was the amount of blood that was flowing, seemingly unchecked. He watched as the surgeons worked to plug the leaks, trying to figure out how things were going by watching their body language. He could tell by the amount of blood and their tense efficiency that things were far from the best case scenario.

He tried to fight the panic as he watched the anesthesiologist hang another unit, and then the despair hit. He was too late. She was already gone, taken up to the NICU by the neonatal team. Wilson was gone as well. At least she wasn't alone.

He looked across the OR at the new occupant in the room. "Am I dying?"

TBC

_Author's note: Well, if it makes you feel better, it is the last cliffhanger of the story._


	30. The End

_Author's note: If you are confused about the person House is talking to, you might want to read the first chapter again._

Chapter 30: The End

"Am I dying?" he asked the girl in the white dress.

Kayla shook her head. "Nope. It's going to be a long surgery. I thought you might like some company."

"Can we go see her?"

"Of course," she replied, and the walls of the OR seemed to fade and then they were standing in the NICU. He stared down at the tiny scrap of humanity that was his daughter. Immediately, he started cataloging all of the tubes and wires. A C-PAP was helping her breathe. Not good, but a hell of a lot better than a ventilator. She was so damn small, and it was as if every last bit of her energy was consumed in the effort to draw breath. All he could think of was everything he could have done differently – fewer pills, less time sitting at the piano, a hundred different things.

"It's not your fault, Dr. House. There's nothing else you could have done." It was as if she could read his thoughts. Maybe she could.

They stared down at his daughter and he tried to summon the courage to ask the next question. He swallowed, trying to dislodge the lump that had formed in his throat. "Is she gonna be OK?"

She nodded. "Eventually. It's not going to be easy. She'll have some pretty serious setbacks, and it will be 39 days before they'll allow her to go home. The main thing is that she's small, even for 34 weeks." She immediately looked sad. "I guess it's my fault, seeing how birth weight correlates with first trimester weight gain. Maybe if I had given you some warning, you wouldn't have spent the entire time puking."

He had to smile. Did every 12 year old pick up random medical knowledge after death? "Yeah. Thanks for the lack of warning on that." His words were sarcastic, but there was little malice behind them. "So, she really will be OK?"

She nodded. "She'll be a little behind in her developmental milestones for a while, but by the time she's two, you'd never guess that she's been premature. I should probably warn you that her favorite words will be 'why' and 'no'."

Finally he could relax, and when he looked around the room, he spotted Wilson standing off to one side, looking slightly lost and out of place. The only reason why he was even allowed in the NICU as they worked on the baby was professional courtesy.

To most people, Wilson would appear perfectly calm, but House had spent years observing his friend. House watched as Wilson fingered the hospital bracelet that now encircled his right wrist. Once again, Cuddy had come through. With a single piece of plastic, Wilson was now officially a parent, at least in the eyes of Princeton-Plainsborough Teaching Hospital. House would be willing to bet that when he woke up from surgery, there would be a matching bracelet on his own wrist. He wished there was some way he could reassure Wilson, to let him know that everything would be all right.

One of the nurses moved away from the incubator, and House inched closer to get a better look at his daughter. "What color are her eyes?" he couldn't help but ask.

"Blue. She has your eyes and your nose." She smiled impishly. "Luckily she has Dr. Wilson's smile, because no one would ever recognize yours." As he stared at her in shock, once again she seemed to read his thoughts. "Oh, come on, Dr. House, you've known since the beginning that Dr. Wilson was the father!" For once House couldn't formulate a snappy comeback, and she laughed at him. "If you don't believe me, in two weeks you can ask Dr. Chase and Dr. Foreman for a copy of the DNA results. When Dr. Cuddy finds out they ordered an expensive test to settle a bet, she's going to assign them both clinic hours to work it off." She grinned. "But that didn't stop her from looking at the results!"

He laughed, wondering how he could best use this piece of information to his own advantage. "So, how long am I gonna be stuck in the hospital?"

"Eight days."

"Eight! People with heart attacks are out in less!"

"Well, as you saw when we were downstairs, they couldn't leave the placenta intact, like they had planned. Because it was already pulling away, they had no choice but to remove it entirely. By the time the surgery is done, they will have given you eleven units of blood. Last time was minor compared to this. Plus the pregnancy and thirteen weeks of bedrest have been hard on your body. They're going to keep you here until you've regained your strength a bit."

He sighed, reluctantly accepting the inevitable. "So how come I didn't see you the last time I had surgery."

She grinned, wryly. "To tell you the truth, I figured you'd be mad at me, and at the time, I couldn't tell you how it all turned out." She thought for a moment. "Come on, let's take a walk."

He hesitated, not wanting to leave his daughter, but his only source of conversation had just walked out the door, or, more precisely, through the nearest wall. He shrugged and followed her, enjoying the novelty of walking through a solid barrier. He sprinted down the hallway, finally catching up with her in front of the nurse's station.

He vaguely recognized the nurse behind the counter as one of the nurses in the NICU, though she had not been assigned to his daughter. The other woman, Nancy, was a physician's assistant that often worked in the clinic, as well as being one of the biggest gossips in the hospital.

"Guess what the name of our newest patient is," said the nurse.

Nancy leaned in, knowing that whatever the secret was, it was going to be good. "I don't know. What?" she asked eagerly.

"Kayla Marie House-Wilson," the nurse supplied.

Nancy was confused. "I didn't know Dr. Wilson had a sister."

"He doesn't."

"But I thought that Dr. House was an only child."

"He is." Clearly Nancy wasn't getting it, so the nurse had to spell it out. "Dr. House and Dr. Wilson are the parents."

Comprehension dawned. "You mean they're _together_. Oh. My. God. How long have they been dating?"

The nurse shrugged. "No clue. Long enough to decide to have a baby and find someone to be their surrogate."

As far as Nancy was concerned, the gossip just kept getting better. "How'd they manage to find someone who'd put up with House for nine months?" She shuddered theatrically and House scowled at her, remembering why he disliked the woman.

The younger woman replied, "I don't know. Probably paid her a bundle of cash. Too bad she won't get to enjoy it. Her car was hit by a drunk driver, and she died right after they took the baby. Unfortunately for the kid, she was only at 34 weeks, 2 days."

"Oh no! How's the baby doing?" House was surprised to hear genuine concern in her voice.

"Lungs not as developed as they could have hoped for 34 weeks. Lethargic. The usual—the next 24 hours are critical." The nurse was unemotional, a sign that she was on her way to becoming one of the many who burned out in the high-stress NICU. She gestured to the ward, where Wilson was standing guard over his daughter, and her voice became more impassioned. "Look at him! All by himself. So, where's Dr. House as his kid fights for her life?"

"Surgery," explained Nancy, offering up the news from the other end of the hospital. "I heard he was in a car accident, and they're trying to stop the bleeding. They've been at it for hours, and they've had to order more blood at least twice."

"They must have been in the same car, going to an appointment or something," suggested the nurse.

"I hadn't heard that there was a passenger, but it would make sense."

The younger woman nodded. "First cancer. Now he can't even see his own daughter born. He may be a bastard, but even he doesn't deserve all of this."

Kayla looked over at House. "Looks like the cover story is going to hold up."

"Yeah. It helps that everything went down after normal business hours, and having a hospital administrator and a lawyer with a few shady contacts on our side."

She nodded. "So how come you didn't mention you'd named her after me."

"Who says I did?"

She clearly wasn't buying it. "Like she only has both my first name _and _my middle name."

"So, I named her after long-dead relatives," he said imperiously.

"You don't have any dead relatives with those names." He tried to respond, but she interrupted him, "and Dr. Wilson doesn't have any relatives with that name, either."

He quit arguing, realizing that it was impossible to fool someone who apparently knew everything.

They walked down the hall, and he decided to ask her a question. "So how come you've been wearing a dress the last two times I've seen you? You never dressed that way when you were alive."

She seemed to be considering the question, and finally she answered, "you don't need to be tough in heaven."

He nodded. Apparently you didn't need to be a cripple, either. It hadn't escaped his attention that he didn't have his cane, and even though he could still feel that the muscle was still gone from his right thigh, there was no pain and he could move with ease. He looked down at his clothes—favorite Tshirt and a pair of well-worn jeans. He laughed, knowing that Wilson would probably choose to meet his maker in an expensive suit and a hideously striped tie.

They arrived at the surgical waiting room, and he was surprised to recognize so many people there. Some he had fully expected—his parents, Lisa Cuddy and Allison Cameron. He hadn't expected Eric Foreman, or Mark and Stacy Warner. He had assumed that Jane Wilson would be up near the NICU, but she was sitting next to his mother. The man next to her looked vaguely familiar, but he couldn't place him.

"Dr. Wilson's father," Kayla supplied helpfully.

"But he hasn't spoken a single word to his son in three months."

"True, but he finally realized that if he wasn't here today, he'd be out of his son's life forever. He also realized that this might be his only chance for a grandchild for a few years. Mrs. Wilson has been working on him for the last few months, and he's finally started to come around. Give him some time, and he'll be one of the strongest supporters of you and Dr. Wilson's relationship. And he'll be an excellent grandfather."

He was tempted to disagree with her, but realized it was pointless. Suddenly the enormity of the changes that were about to occur hit him. He slumped down in the nearest chair. "Oh God, we have a baby."

"Well, duh! What did you expect?" She curled up in the chair next to him.

He shrugged. "We never thought much beyond today. What the hell do we know about being parents?"

"Hey, even people that think they have a clue find they really don't. It's all on the job training. At least you went to medical school. Some might say that you are overqualified to diagnose a case of colic."

"They don't teach you how to burp a baby in medical school," he protested.

She nodded, considering. "There's books for things like that. Dr. Wilson has several hidden in the bottom drawer of his desk."

Of course. Wilson, always the boy scout. All he could think of were all of the things that needed to be done. "We don't have anything – a crib, a car seat, clothing. Hell, even if we did, where would we put all of it?" House's apartment wasn't really big enough for two grownups—even without the addition of a kid.

She laughed. "I can't help you with the real estate, you're on your own with that. As for all of the stuff, I probably shouldn't tell you this, but Dr. Cuddy and Dr. Cameron are going to throw you guys a baby shower."

He groaned, not sure if he should be alarmed or relieved.

"I should warn you, there will be a frighteningly large amount of pink wrapping paper." She ignored him when he groaned again. "Surprisingly, hardly any of the actual presents are pink. I think they all realized you guys wouldn't use anything that was too girly."

"Anything good?" he asked, hopefully.

"Oh yeah, lots of cool stuff. A backpack that is actually a diaper bag. The entire oncology department chipped in for the baby furniture." At his worried look, she hastened to add. "Dark wood with simple lines. Just your style. The Warners bought a glider. The cushions are black leather to match your sofa."

He smiled, remembering the chair in which he had fallen asleep at their house. "I would have thought faking the paperwork would be sufficient."

She grinned back. "Stacy wanted to give you something a little more personal."

"What about Dr. Cameron?" he asked, trying to imagine what she would have come up with.

"She and Dr. Cuddy have been working on decorating the baby's room. Which she will have in your new place."

He groaned, imagining teddy bears and pink ribbons. "How bad is it?"

"Give them some credit! They know you and your style. They will finally settle on Winnie the Pooh because it has lots of pale greens and yellows. Surprisingly the only people that will break the pink barrier are Dr. Foreman and Dr. Chase. I guess they feel manly enough to judge what an acceptable level of pink is." She giggled, and then she froze, as if she was listening to a voice he couldn't hear. "It's time for you to go back."

"Wait!" Now that the time was up, he realized that he hadn't asked the question that had plagued him all these months. "Why this? Why a pregnancy? If you thought I needed to have a kid, why not just leave a baby on my doorstep?"

She gestured to the filled waiting room. "Look at all the people you've let in."

He was still pondering her cryptic words when the world faded around him.

* * *

The darkness was warm and comforting. It was tempting to give in to that warmth, but a fleeting memory tickled at his brain. There was someone his needed to see, a message he needed to pass on. He focused all of his meager store of energy, and after a struggle he was able to open his eyes. There he was. Wilson, looking tired and worried, his sleeves pushed up and his tie crooked in his collar.

As his other senses checked in, he could feel the fingers of his right hand entwined with Wilson's. Wilson leaned down to speak. "Cuddy is with her in the NICU." He paused, knowing that House would want all of the medical details, and was surprised when House interrupted him.

"I saw her. She's beautiful." House's voice was slurred from the aftereffects of the anesthesia, combined with heavy painkillers, but there was an air of certainty that was unmistakable. "She's going to be fine."

"Really?" Wilson didn't even seem to notice the tears that were running down his cheeks. "Are you sure?"

House nodded, and with his message delivered, allowed the darkness to pull him under as he slipped back into a dreamless sleep.

THE END

_Author's Note: Well, this really is the end. I hope you have enjoyed the ride. I know some of you are hoping for a sequel, but given that it took me 3.5 years to write this, I don't anticipate posting anything new any time soon. I wish I had more time to write, and didn't write so darned slow. Thank you again to everyone who was kind enough to write a review._


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